A Hint of Freedom
by Irish Ghost
Summary: All Jess wants is the freedom to make her own choices. What will she do, when she runs away and joins Capt. Jack Sparrow, to ensure that? Fights, losses, family ties, bonds made anew and broken, discovering who she is... It's a whole new world now, savvy?
1. Come What May, The Choices She Made

**Come What May, The Choices She Made**

Living among the merchants of the seaside village of Wexford, Ireland, many people are known to have picked up many appropriate interests among the sea-faring town. Most of the boys of the community wanted to have jobs upon the sea, to become sailors, merchants, whalers, or men of the Navy. If not, they would become apprentices to the many sea-faring related trades, such as carpenters, caulkers, sail-makers, harbourmasters, or weapon-masters. Many girls of the common class became the participants of the port houses, selling their bodies every night for a few coppers. They gave their money to their families, trying to support them in the only way that they knew how.

On the other end of the social spectrum, upper-class girls sought to marry well with wealthy merchants or with high standing men of the Navy. However, there were some people who sought interests that were different from the rest of their standings. I was one of them. Even though I was of the caste of merchants, my heart belonged to the sea, and to the thieves and rogues who roamed it as their home.

Ever since I was a little girl, pirates have always fascinated me. Everything about them, the life without rules, freedom upon the open sea, being able to do whatever you wanted, it all encouraged me to learn everything that I could about them and their ways of life. Some of my knowledge, I had gleaned from the books at the local libraries, and from the local sellers of books. But these sources were just not enough.

Most of my information, I gathered under disguise. I dressed up as a boy on the nights when my father was not home, and I walked down to the seaside taverns to eavesdrop on the old sailors' talk. After I learned what I wanted, I would leave and write down all that I could to remember on paper; I guess it made me lucky that one of the gifts that the Lord had blessed me with was an exact memory. I would place the new information in the desk of my bureau, and crawl back into bed. By the next morning, I was Jessica MacFarlane, a respectable six year old daughter, once more.

As the daughter of one of the most respectable and prominent merchants in the town, I grew up in a privileged life. My family lived in a magnificent solitary sandstone home, surrounded only by the sunlit waters of the ocean. It was a short walk down the grassy hill to reach the cobblestone roads of the coastal town of Wexford. Our home was filled with life and beautiful things by my mother. Unfortunately, she had died giving birth to me, her fourth child. I do not think that my father had ever looked at me as a daughter, but rather as the reason why his beloved Catherine was no longer in this world.

My father did not see it fit to hire a governess or a maid to look after me, since I was perfectly capable to take care of myself. I was self-reliant even at my tender age. My brothers were hardly around to help me out. The servants kept to themselves. I was on my own, dividing my time between the bookshops and my private room.

My inner sanctum, which was painted a delicate shade of light blue, had an oaken balcony, which granted me a beautiful view of the ocean. It was especially gorgeous when the sun set every night, casting its light over the gently rolling waves. I made my bed with pale blue linens and a deeper blue comforter, on top of plump goose-down mattresses. Near the door, there was a closed closet of all of my dresses. Hidden under a loose floorboard, was my boy's clothing for when I went down to the pubs.

There was a wall-size maple bookcase, filled with classics by authors such as Shakespeare, the Grecian and English philosophers, and my books of piracy. In front of the case, there was a meticulously worked carpet of blue and white arabesques that Father had purchased for me from his travels to the Middle East. Finally, beside the balcony, there was a mahogany bureau and desk, where I would catalog and hide all of the information that I gathered about pirates.

As society dictated, as the only female of the family, my life was dictated by the will of my father, and all, if any, men in the immediate family. Since they all had control over my life, my father, J. MacFarlane, and my three brothers, Jacob, 16, John, 13, and Joshua, 10, saw it fit to frown as often as possible upon my deepened interests in piracy. All of them said that I wasted my time needlessly, and that I would be better off practicing my embroidery or playing the pianoforte instead. However much they wished not to believe it, I was a rebellious child by nature, and I continued to study the ways of piracy on my own, often late into the night.

Eventually, since I had accumulated so much piratical information and my desk had long run out of room to hide it all, I started a journal about pirates. During market day, the day I had just turned six and a half years old, I acquired a small leather bound book, filled with four hundred pages of blank cream-colored vellum. Every piece of information that I gleaned about pirates, from both my jaunts to the pubs and from all of the books that I had acquired, I added it to the creamy pages.

By the times almost two years had passed after I began my first journal, I had filled five similar books with all of my information. All of the piratical facts that I had gathered, I had collected from over four hundred books, all of which were in my current possession. I made sure that I wrote down every title of every pirate book into one of my journals, so that I would know which books not to get in the future.

Inside each journal, there were meticulously drawn maps of treasure locations, ocean currents, and drawings of the coastline of Africa, the Spanish Main and the Caribbean, and the coastline of India. There were also drawings of famous piratical flags. All of these drawings and maps were worthy of the finest Irish cartographer, in my humble opinion. These journals also contained biographies of famous pirates and privateers, The Code of Pirates, and even excerpts from rutter entries that I had picked from the pockets of unsuspecting captains in the pubs.

Father gave all four of us a weekly allowance of one hundred pounds to spend, as we would like to. I spent the money every second week. On that week, I would dress up in my simple gown of plain blue linen, without any fripperies or additions underneath it, and I would go into the local books stores. As a constant customer, the storeowner knew who I was, and hid all of the books on piracy in weird locations around the store. He knew how much I loved treasure hunts, so he turned each of my visits into a quest to find the treasure of books.

When I entered the store, he would hand me a rolled up piece of parchment, and then would quietly go back to his work. But out of the corner of his eye, he would watch me walk through the treasure hunt, finding the clues, solving the puzzles. When I found the stash of books, there were always at the most ten new ones; yet, the kind owner sold them all to me for the sum of two hundred pounds, my entire allowance. It was always so generous of him; seeming how a book of such quality that he sold to me, could have been sold easily for almost two hundred pounds a piece.

But as I matured and grew older, I put my interest in pirates behind me. The books of piracy and life on the high seas were slowly replaced with the feminine classics, and books "essential to my learning", or so said my crotchety old governess. My visits to the bookshop and the pubs stopped eventually, since my governess watched me in great scrutiny. At the insistence of this same old crotchety governess that Father hired when I had just turned eight years old, I began to take lessons that same year on how to become a proper lady in the Irish society of the day. Governess hired tutors to teach me how to properly play instruments, how to dance with a gentleman, how to act when in public, how to paint, how to sing like a linnet, how to use proper etiquette whenever I went, how to eat, sit, walk, speak, and act like a lady and not like a "romping wild child" or like a "wicked child", as she often called me.

Through these lessons, I grew up into the respectable, submissive, and poised daughter that was the model of today's society. I underwent a transformation into a prim and proper young woman, whose only destiny was to expect an appropriate marital arrangement through her father. After I finished my lessons at the age of eleven, I received my first surprise from my father. When my lessons had reached their conclusion, Father had deemed me the honor of bearing our family's name whenever I left the house.

As a proper young Irish lady, I was skilled in the feminine arts. I could play beautiful pieces from the classics on the harpsichord, the pianoforte, the flute, and the violin. I could sing beautiful songs that had not graced our home since Mother had died. I had advanced through my instruction of drawing and painting so quickly, that at the age of ten, I was able paint a watercolour of a horse in mid-step, just by looking at it once. In the ballrooms that Father took me along to across the country, men fought over the singular honor of the pleasure of dancing with me. All over our hillside house, there were framed artworks of the embroideries that I had completed: a bowl of exotic fruit in the shadows, an amber cat about to lick its paws, a beautiful bouquet of roses of many hues. Everywhere I went, I exuded the grace and gentile of a young woman who had just entered proper society.

During the time of my lessons, my body also began to change. My short chocolate hair slowly grew to waist length, and had subtly changed colors to a shimmering deep auburn, accented with flickering natural highlights of shades of dark honey tones. My chest grew fuller, filling in the tops of my childhood dresses. When Governess found out, she made me start wearing more elegant dresses that allowed me to show off my growing bosom. My bleedings began; once again, when Governess found out, she made start wearing a veil outdoors, and a horrid corset underneath all of my dresses. My face elongated, allowing for my face to become slimmer. Upon my visage, there were many features that accentuated my natural beauty. My soft, delicate pink mouth never opened in anger, but only in graceful conversation. My ears became smaller, almost into the shape similar to that of the seashells found around the shoreline of our home. The clear dark sapphire eyes upon my face were framed elegantly by a hint of natural rouge in my skin. My complexion, since I was forbidden to go outdoors without a veil, went from a ruddy tan color from my times outside, to an unblemished pale peach; it had the texture of newly made satin from all of the meticulous care I took.

Unfortunately, my family grew into incredibly hard times. My father's business, once flourishing and brimming with wealth, fell into debt and destitution. The cause was that his entire last shipment of ships had crashed, and all of the precious cargo had gone down with the ship. All of the trading waters that surrounded the British colony of India had gone into an unexpected early monsoon season, and all of the merchant ships that were unfortunately caught in it were being destroyed in the violent storms. The merchants of whom we shipped cargo for came knocking at our door, demanding recompense for their lost goods. We no longer had enough money to finance our staff members, so they all found themselves no longer in our employment. We were now utterly on our own. I was now in charge of the house; I was eleven years old.

My three brothers did not help out by continuing to live as if we still had caches of money to spend at their every whim. All three of them had no feeling for the terse situation around us, and completely frittered away all of their inheritances in their games. They now looked at my own with lust and greed growing in their eyes. They believed that all good in life came from a time of pleasurable company, exotic drinks in the ballrooms, and in their nightly gambling bouts all over the town.

Occasionally, they actually won at their gambling games they played, but we never saw a single penny of their scant winnings. All three of my brothers spent every pound on lustful and expensive fancies, particularly the whores in the higher-end brothels, waiting like voracious predators to snatch a prize and make their fortunes at their unmoral trades in bed. They would come home late at night stone cold drunk, and then, once they had sobered, they would act like I was their servant when I would come to clean up.

Since I was now our housekeeper, I had a lot of responsibilities on my shoulders. Luckily before she left, Governess taught me how to clean house, how to maintain a good household, how to keep careful records of the expenses of a household, and how to do household chores. I purchased all of the necessary supplies by selling my piratical books. It broke my heart every time I parted with one of my books. But, it was necessary for me to keep a clean house. I guess that I was lucky that I had written down every title of every book in my piratical journals. I began to clean, to dust, to wax the wooden floors, to do laundry, to buy our groceries, to make beds, to cook, and to clean dishes. I stopped wearing my dresses, and started to wear my shifts, so that the dresses would not become dirty.

As I sat down for the first time to run over our expenses and our past debts, I finally realized how much money my brothers wasted on their gambling games. The debts that they had incurred were a substantial portion of the debts that we needed to pay off to the bank, if we had any money left to pay them. However, my efforts went unnoticed; neither my father nor my brothers aided me in taking care of our now empty home. My brothers were more concerned with the continuance of their frivolous lifestyles; my father spent his days brooding in the study, wallowing in self pity and trying to reverse our current financial state to little success.

It never truly sunk in to my mind and my heart that Father was looking to have me married off now to any local richer merchant, to try and restore our now worthless family name. I always thought that my father would cherish my feelings over anything else. Unfortunately, I was proved wrong, when I was invited to come into his study one evening, almost a year after we became bankrupt.

"You called for me, Father?" I asked when I reached the threshold of the study. My hand gently grazed the wood of the doorway; it was red and chafed from the floors that I had cleaned and the dishes that I had washed.

"Yes. Come in, Jessica. Take a seat, will you?" Father leaned on the mantle above the stone fireplace, keeping his back facing me as I walked closer to him. A roaring fire was burning in front of him, casting his silhouette against the bookcases and the wooden floor. Fanning my shift around me, I sat in the leather chair behind him. Grimacing as my sore back straightened against the chair, I turned my full attention to him.

"Jessica, you know that we have no more money left." Turning around, he sat down in his own chair.

"Yes, Father. I have known for a long time now."

"You know that I would never do this to you, Jessica. But, I am desperate. Our family name no longer means anything to anyone. Would you do anything to help restore honor and dignity to our name?"

"I would do anything, Papa! Even with your sons'… indiscretion with spending copious amounts of money, I have done all that I can to keep this family and home together. I will do all that I can to ensure that our family name is restored to its former glory." I rushed out of my chair, and sat on the floor, placing my head and my hands on Father's knees.

"You are my good girl, Jessica. You always have been. But please, listen to everything I have to say before you give me your answer." Turning back to the fireplace, Father continued. "You are familiar with my old friend, Sir Frederick Goodall?" He began to stroke my hair, the way he used to when I was younger and upset.

"Of course, Father." I remembered him all right. About thirty years old of age, he was a pompous windbag, puffed up with self-importance. He was never caring about the misfortune of others, but he had come earlier that day to our doorstep, and laughed at our bankruptcy in my face. He had a baboon's face, rather puffy, just like his personality, and I had enjoyed slamming the door in that face. He revelled in the wealth that the merchant business had bestowed on him, living in the centre of the town, going to all of the fashionable parties and establishments, wearing only the latest fashions and styles. He had quite a penchant for powdered wigs, thinking it made him look more distinguished. I thought that it made him look like a miserly old gentlemen. He too had suffered in the Indian Trading Crisis, but not as bad as we had.

"Well, he has made an offer to me for your hand in marriage."

"Did you say 'marriage'?" I sat up on the ground. This was perplexing; of course, Father would never just give me away to a man for his money, would he? I was his precious, his little colleen!

"Yes. He is just the man to help us. He is willing to give me money to restore our family name, but only if you become his bride." He grasped my delicate hands in his callused ones. When I winced, he loosened his grip and began to rub my hands in between his to warm them up.

I had no choice in the matter. I just told Father that I would do anything to help restore our family name. He had me cornered and he knew it. "You already have my answer, sire. I would be honoured to marry such a fine man." Inside, my stomach was retching at the lies that just spurted from my mouth.

"I knew you would say yes! I could always count on you, Jessica. Your brothers… well, your brothers were not as trustworthy." He embraced me in a hug. "Now, since you have agreed, Sir Goodall will be sending a generous amount of money to assist us. After all, you are his betrothed and we are to raise ourselves back to our original level of standing in the merchant community. We can now hire back our staff, so you will stop working and concentrate on your dowry and on your wedding. Now, you must start to prepare!" He dismissed me, and went back to thinking about what good fortune had been granted in his favour.

I held my composure shakily as I walked away, until I reached my room. There, I fell on my bed, and just began to cry. How could Father do this to me? I could not stand it! My brothers, all of whom were at the age of a suitable marriage, could marry some rich daughter of another family, which had the possibility of bringing huge amounts of wealth and frivolities back to our family name. But, it seemed that the thought never crossed my father's mind.

Over the next few weeks, I wallowed in self-pity. Nothing seemed to matter anymore now that I was betrothed to the ugliest man this side of Ireland; my wedding date was set for six months from now, allowing for final details on the extensive nuptial plans to be taken care of. I sat at my desk, reading classics disconsolately. I took long walks by the shore, gazing at the open sea. Oh, how I longed to be free from this vile arrangement!

On one of my walks, I suddenly had a moment of epiphany, an idea about how to escape this betrothal. I rushed back to my room, and searched my bookcase for one book I had not sold yet, and had always inspired me, "Famous Female Buccaneers". This was perfect! I would go out to sea to escape my marriage! I would be just like Grace O'Malley. I began to take my future into my own hands.


	2. The Transformation, The Pain That Ensued

**The Transformation, The Pain That Ensued**

Secretly, I stole ten of Jacob's plain white shirts, a leather belt, five pairs of his smallest and loosest long pants, and two old pairs of his leather knee high boots, all of which he had carelessly and thoughtlessly discarded. On market day, I bought a blue handkerchief, on the pretence to keep my hair out of my way when I was cleaning house. In addition, I brought yards of plain white cotton, to bind my chest flat. In my room, I packed away the clothes into a shoulder satchel I bought from the market; I kept it hidden underneath my bed. I also began to pack away small pieces of jewellery, and other small valuables into the shoulder bag.

In with the clothes and jewellery, I put in some belongings: two threadbare blankets; a black handled hunting knife which I had stolen from Father; a small pistol along with enough bullets and a small sack of powder to shoot thirty men; my plain black telescope; a four month's supply of smoked meat, dried fruit and vegetables, and hard bread; a small mess kit with a set of cutlery; a set of quills and a few packets of dried gull ink powder; a sheaf of coarse white vellum; a compass and my set of navigation tools; a small sewing kit for clothing repairs. I looked around my room for other things to bring, when my eyes fell upon the bureau drawer the contained my pirate journals. If the Almighty One had a purpose for me writing it, then now was the time to use it.

All this time, I pretended to become the perfect daughter, preparing for my marriage to Sir Goodall. I became happier and more pleasurable to be around, than I had been for the past few days. Father complimented me on my sudden change in disposition, going from despondent to practical, taking the worst from our situation, and making it better for us all.

Since we had paid off our debts to the bank and the merchants, I spent my time work on embroidery and spinning, making myself household linens for my dowry. Father had supplied me with porcelain and pewter dishes from England, wine glasses imported from Italy, pewter cutlery from Spain, costly furs from Russia, a beautiful cosmetics kit from France, and the finest of embroidery silks, painting supplies, dancing slippers, and fabrics for dresses, all of which he had collected over the many years of travels since my birth. This was the same dowry that my brothers were so eager to sell for their gambling games.

Father, at least, now had the sense to rein in his wayward sons, and teach them how to become proper Irish gentlemen. Once their debts were paid off, arrangements were made for all three of them to join the Navy. Jacob, now 21, led both John, 19, and Joshua, 15, to the docks to become registered as midshipmen. For once, they were at the bottom of the pit, and nothing about their wealth or merchant standing could change that. But, they only had wealth and merchant standing because of my future nuptial arrangements. My wedding to Sir Frederick Goodall was this family's ticket back into power. I packed all of my belongings, my few books and dresses, my bed linens and carpets, everything that was dear to me in my cedar wedding chest, all except a certain bag hidden in a cache underneath my bed.

Finally, I was all set for leave. Late on the night of Beltane's eve, a month before my wedding, with only the full moon for company, I got myself ready for the sea. I cut my hair to shoulder length, tying it back off my face with a throng into a horsetail; I knotted the blue kerchief around my head. I changed into a set of Jacob's old clothes, grabbed the shoulder bag from underneath my bed, and jumped out of my bedroom window.

I did not think to leave a note to tell the others where I had had gone to. What was I going to say: "Ran away; I love you"? It was better to leave nothing at all. Let their imagination run wild when they discover that I was missing the next morning, for all I cared! I ran along the coastline away from my home, never looking back. I kept running, and when I slowed to a walk, I was in the harbour. A few brand new ships were floating quietly in the night-time waters.

Lady Luck must have been with me, because there before one of those grand vessels, was a recruiter; he looking for strong and willing hands for a nine-month trading journey to the islands of the Spanish Main. I signed on to be a sailor on board the vessel _New Hope_. I was given a hammock, a set of oilskins, and a contract to sign that said that I was going to be paid five pounds a week, an average sailor's wage. I could collect the wages at the end of the voyage. I signed the document, and walked on board.

Looking back into the past, I should have stayed at home. Marriage to the pompous Sir Goodall would have been better than what happened to me on that nine-month journey to the Caribbean. The ship and its captain were not a new hope at all; in fact, they were a hellhole unto themselves. The ship's keel was so old and rotten, that I barely considered it sea worthy. Sickness spread like wildfire, decimating the crew and rotting the food. The Captain was no better. He was a grisly old man, a cruel taskmaster, whipping any and all men who tarried in his duties.

Every week, the Captain would pick a poor soul from among the crew to whip, as an act of discipline for the entire crew. I was the Captain's special favourite for this treatment. I was new to ships, and I had not the faintest idea what I was supposed to do half of the time. So the Captain unleashed his fury with the crack of the cat-o'-nine tails.

When I got picked for the lashing, my jacket was taken off, my hands and feet were tied to the starboard rope ladders, and my shirt was ripped off my muscled back. Each session was about fifteen lashes. Each lash would crack on my back and hug around my ribs, leaving its bloody signature with every snap of the captain's wrist. Fifteen lashes were enough to severely injure a full-grown man; for a twelve-year old, it was enough to cripple me for the rest of the day.

After my first session with the cat, the crew left me tied up unconscious to the ropes. Only one crew member, I think his name was Derek, stayed behind; I can not even remember what he looks like. I could hear the shocked talking of the crew as Derek gently climbed the ropes and cut the ropes with his sailor's knife. I remember falling to the deck and regaining my senses when my back rippled with pain.

Derek jumped off the ropes and picked me and my discarded clothes up like a father carrying his sleeping son. "No one deserves that," he said to himself as he hauled me down to the berths. He placed me on the chair near his berth. On the floor was a bucket of salt water. Soaking a cloth in the water, he began to dab it against the open wounds. I may not remember what Derek looked like, but the pain of salt water on open wounds is something no sailor forgets. Still, the comfort of the gentle touch abated some of my fears. When he was finished, he placed my clothes next to the chair and left the room.

After every session with the cat-o'-nine tails, Derek and one other man would untie me from the mast, pick up my discarded clothes, and carry me in their arms back to the berths. There, they would place me in the cabin's chair; Derek always held my hands in front of the chair to hold me down. Once I was secured, the other sailor would pour the bucket of cold salt water on my beaten and bloodied back. The men did this to form salt scars, so that the wounds would not become infected. Every time the water was poured on to my back, unspeakable pain swam through my body. The screaming that came from within me was so unnatural; it frightened me as much as the whippings themselves.

Once the deed was done, they would leave me alone. An hour later, I would hobble out, my jacket back on, to continue on with my duties on board this hell ship. The men would look at me, a twelve-year-old boy, with pity, but out of fear of the captain, they would not come to help me when I stumbled. It only meant that the next week, I would probably be the whipping boy.

But not even the cat-o'-nine tails could keep me from my duties. I was posted permanently on sail duty, furling and unfurling the sails. At night I was given a watch post up in the crow's nest. To me, it only made sense that I set up my hammock in the crow's nest. I loved being along the ropes and masts, because I loved to climb and hand down from them. I learned early on from the men to never raise a hand against one of the officers or the captain; if ever they corrected me in anything, I was to knuckle my brow and get down to it. One of the sea-men tentatively showed me what to do during the first week of the voyage, and then left me to my own devices. That, and the assistance that I would receive after the beatings, was the only interaction I had with the crew.

I never worked so hard in my whole like as I worked on that ship. Every night, I strung my hammock in the sails, and slept deeply until dawn the next morning. I slept whenever I could; it was not as easy as it seemed to go from a sturdy bed to a hammock that swayed in the wind. My muscles, lax from simply sitting and walking, became tough and defined from climbing the ropes and doing tasks that were a hundred times harder than I was used to do. My back, although covered in old whip scars, rippled with every movement I made. My legs, once soft and delicate, were now as tough as the cobblestone roads back home. My hands, with which I used to take meticulous care of, were now rough and callused; my knuckles became scared from working and hitting the sails and ropes. My skin, once white as new satin, was now tanned to the color of a bronze coin. So, there was a little beneficial result from my mistake in signing on.

Whenever food came around, I was always last to be fed, being the newest sailor amongst the crew. I grabbed for a piece of weevil-ridden tack or a piece of rotting meat or fruit, but most of the time there was nothing left for me. Eventually, I stopped eating the ship's rations, and I began slowly dipping into my own stash of food. I was pretty grateful that I had packed the rations in my bag, but I had to spread them out, because this was going to be a long journey, and I had brought enough food for only four months.

No one on board the _New Hope_ knew that I was a girl. Before I had left home, I had bound my breasts with the cotton strips that I had bought, in an effort to make my chest flatter. So far, it had worked well. Besides, I grew to be a loner, preferring the open sea breeze on the crow's-nest, then the shaky friendships that the men tried to form. At night, I would sew my shirts back together from the lashes it had endured, instead of smoking and chattering in bed. The only times that my disguise came close to being discovered was when my back was bared for the whippings. The captain never cared; all he cared about was getting someone to scream while they were whipped. I explained to the crew when they asked, that I had injured myself before the expedition, and the doctor insisted that the bandages stay on until I return from my trip. Besides that, no one cared for the recluse Matthew Cutting, a quiet twelve-year-old boy. All anyone really cared about was getting enough to eat, and making sure that they weren't the ones beneath the captain's lash.


	3. The Dream of Their Lives

**The Dream of the Lives**

The Captain's luck soon ran out. On a still summer's day, while on lookout duty, I spotted a ship in the distance. I could not see her flags, but she appeared to be making a beeline straight toward us. The quartermaster, on orders from the captain, handed out swords to all of us, in the case that we would need to defend ourselves, if there was going to be an attack. Reaching into my bag, I primed my pistol, readying myself for my first sea battle. Even if it was a hellhole, this was my home, and I would fight to the last breath to protect it. Still, my hands were so shaky, that some of the powder from the gun fell onto the deck as I was priming my gun. The ship that was once on the horizon was now not even a league away. Her flags were clear now: they were that a pirate ship!

We drew our swords, and gave it our all when they boarded. I had used up only a couple of the bullets, but there was not a lot of time between shots to reload the pistol constantly, not with a full-out skirmish on deck. So I stuck the gun back into my belt, and used my sword from that point on. The pirates returned the fight and fervour in kind. As we refused to dole out mercy and recognize quarter, so did they. The Captain was the first to die, the first to stain the salt-encrusted deck with his cruel blood; never again would his cruel whip crack on my back. Others soon followed him, their bodies littering the deck. I became temporarily deaf because of the booming of the cannons; I could not see through all of the smoke that the gun and cannon fire produced.

I was so dazed by the sights around me, that I lost my focus on the fighting around me. One of the buccaneers snuck up in front of me and slashed down his cutlass. Through my weak defence, he had managed to slice clean down my entire torso. I collapsed on the deck, and he moved on, leaving me for dead. When I collapsed, I just wanted to die, because I felt that life was no longer worth living.

I don't remember much about what happened over the next day. All that I think that I remember were images. There was a tanned face, his blue eyes full of concern. Someone was yelling at someone else to go and fetch him the Captain. A strange person was placing a callused hand against my cheek, and placing his ear on my chest. Someone else yelling, "He's alive!" I had the feeling of being lifted off the ground, and gently placed back down on the deck. I don't really remember much more than that.

When I finally came around, I was still on the deck of the _New Hope_, the noon sun glaring unforgivably down on me. I was alone right now, but that would change soon enough. I needed to get out of here, before any of the men came and saw me. Pressing my hands against the wood of the ship, I slowly got up and limped back to the berths.

At least here I would have some peace and quiet, so no one would hear my screams. I needed to sew up these cuts, but I did not want a surgeon to touch me. Reaching for my satchel, amazingly still on my shoulder, I got out my sewing kit, well used and abused by my former captain. I also pilfered through Derek's stuff- I did not even know if he was still alive, at this point- and brought out his bottle of brandy. That had two purposes: to numb the pain, and to clean away anything that was left in the wounds that could get infected.

"Oie!" I heard a voice from above. "Anyone seen the lad?"

"What lad, Perkins?" It was another voice that answered this time.

"You know which one, Duffy, ye great ass! The boy as wot was injured." They were looking for me, but at least they had not found me just yet. Another thing registered in my mind as I went over his statement.

Lad... That meant that they did not know the truth. To them, I was Matthew Cutting. That name had been my identity for my nine or so months out at sea on board the _New Hope_. Now I was among a new crew, where they treated each other more than friends, but more like a family. It gave me the jitters; I thought that all sea crews functioned similarly to the one on the _New Hope_.

Taking a swig of brandy, I shook my head as I got ready to do my own surgery. I stripped off my tunic and took in the damage. My torso was decorated with one long cutlass swipe from the middle of my breast bone to my navel; the cutlass wound had begin to scab over, but the dried blood around made the wound seem more damaging than it truly was. The first thing that I did was thank the Lord above that none of my ribs were broken, but they showed though my skin from the extreme lack of food over a long period of time. There were other smaller cutlass nicks as a result of the metal colliding with each other, but I had to get to that one first. My lower torso was covered on the sides with the kisses of the cat-o'-nine tails. My back probably looked like hell, but I felt no pain there. At least, that was a blessing.

I brought my hand to my head; the brandy was making me really dizzy. But when I took it away, there was blood on my palm. I pilfered through Derek's bag once more and found his shaving mirror. My left eye had been cut in two places: once through my eyebrow, and another just to the left of it. Those, I would deal with later.

Tearing off a portion of my shirt, I stuffed into a ball and shoved it into my mouth for my to bite on. Threading the needle, I took a deep breath and began to sew.

It was like the devil himself was bouncing on my mauled chest. Tears were coming to my eyes, but I had to keep going. My stitches were even, the black thread stark against my tanned skin. It took me what felt like a long time, but I got the torso done. That was the longest one, but by far not the hardest. Taking another ripped portion of my shirt, I dipped into my water ration and wiped away the blood before wrapping my torso up in bandaging that I had saved for my chest. Turning into the mirror, I spit out the shirt, tossed back some more brandy, and sewed the cuts around my eye. That hurt more, but at least they were smaller cuts.

Satisfied, I wrapped my bandana around my head, cleaned the wounds, and threw out all of the evidence that I was ever here. I dressed in a clean shirt and headed back on deck. When the sun hit me, I only heard, "Hey!" before I collapsed once more.

When I woke up, I was lying back in the berths, but these were not the berths of the _New Hope_. My left eye was covered in a bandage so I could not use it. The wounds were beginning to scar over; in a couple of days, I would remove the stitches. For now, I could only wait. I felt better then I had before, at least. My stomach no longer felt like it had to heave; looks like the brandy did me some good after all. I settled back into the hammock, hoping to go back to sleep.

All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door. I turned over to see who could possibly want to come in here. A new man entered the berths, an air of commanding presence filling the air around him. He was probably the captain from the look of his clothes: he was wearing a tricorn hat over top a sun-bleached crimson bandana; a once-white shirt underneath a leather west and worn knee-length jacket; and boots that went up to his knees. His hair was done up in dreadlocks, and were decorated with little things: beads, pieces of ivory, a silver piece of eight. He had a braided beard to go with the rum-smelling breath, but he walked- well, strolled- with the air of a captain, of someone who knew where he belonged.

"So." He sat down on a stool and faced me. I swung my legs over the edge of the hammock and stared at him. "What's your story, laddy?"

No better time like the present to continue a disguise. "Matthew Cutting, late of the _New Hope_. Parents died of a fever in Dublin, and I went to sea." I stared at the captain in front of me; that was when his familiarity kicked in. "So, Captain Jack Sparrow, late of the _Black Pearl_ what will you?"

His eyebrows raised through the roof of his hairline, and his face bore a toothy grin. "So you know me!"

Right at that moment, another man stormed into the berths. He was dressed in black from top to bottom. Probably the first mate, he had the aura of a seasoned pirate, someone who was not afraid to do what he wanted when he wanted. "Jack! The _Pearl_'s got keel damage! We need to put to harbour!"

"Bugger!" Captain Sparrow placed his head in his hands before getting a look of an epiphany on his face. "Salvage the parts from the ship we just destroyed. Get O'Niell right on it!"

At that moment, the first mate saw me. "And who'd be you?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Jack beat me to the punch. "Mister Matthew Cutting, late of the _New Hope_."

Barbossa leered at me for a moment. "Gonna need more than that to join the crew, mate."

I drew out the set of journals, and pulled out the one that contained the treasure maps. "This trip was just a mean to an ends. I'm a treasure hunter. I just needed a way to the Caribbean." A little lie could go a long way, as I handed the book over for Jack's inspection.

"These maps are as accurate as you could make them?" he asked, attempting to talk casually, but he could not stop his eyes from almost popping out their sockets at the treasure trove of information that he held in his hands. Barbossa peered over his shoulders, trying to comprehend the maps in front of him.

"Yeah; I drew the maps from several sources, and the treasure location overlapped many of the times. Also, Captain, I would be honoured to join your crew."

"What makes you think that you're in the crew, laddy?" Barbossa gave another leer in my direction. I stood up and ripped the journal from Jack's hands.

"Because if you don't, these maps are history." I tucked the books back in the satchel and walked out the door.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Jack grabbed my shoulder. "You stay, you're in the crew!" His eyes were huge from the sight of the maps. My leverage had worked. Giving a smile, I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

"All right, all right! You'll have to swear to follow the rules of my ship, and write your name in blood in the roster. You got to this before the crew, by sunset today." Once that was said, the captain and first mate left me alone.

I checked for all of my belongings around and under my makeshift berth and stuffed them all into my satchel. I tightened the wraps around my chest, and put the shirt back on. Finally, I re-tied my kerchief around my head, being careful about the bandage around my eye. Seeing as I still had six hours to kill, I began to carve out a pan-flute, a set of ten hollowed-out pipes, with a notch at the top for sound. I had filched the wooden pipes and a tool set from the carpenter's bench before the battle. After sawing the pipes to the right length and chiselling out the notches, I proceeded to sand them until they were as smooth as silk. Finally, I secured the pipes together with small nails, and a string of rawhide. Looking out the window, I saw that it was almost time for my initiation. I placed my newly made set of pipes and my new tool kit away in my bag. I put my vest and jacket back on, making sure that my knife was placed securely in the small of my back; taking a deep breath, I slung my sea-bag over my shoulder, and walked out onto the deck.

The rest of Captain Sparrow's crew was assembled, chattering away amongst themselves all over the deck. Because their attention was diverted away from me, no one bothered to look at a slight twelve-year old boy walking up onto the quarterdeck's main mast. Jack stood casually in the shade of the mast, looking over the rest of his crew. Beside him was a rickety old table with a rolled up scroll, a book of names, and a hatchet. I walked up to him, trying to keep myself calm. Nodding to him, my instigation into the crew of the _Black Pearl_ began.

"All right, lads!" Sparrow called out in a strident voice. The assembled crew grew quiet. Placing one of his weathered hands on my shoulder, he continued to speak. "Young Matthew Cutting here wishes to join our crew. Who among you does not want him to join this fine company?" He seemed oddly serious; was this kind of personality swing often for this new captain of mine? A couple of the crewmen elbowed one another, seeing how young their new recruit was.

Jack turned on me, ignoring some of the slightly ribald comments of the crew. Taking hold of the scroll, he unrolled it and placed it on the hatchet. "Matthew Cutting, I will now read out the Articles of this ship for you. Follow these rules with your life, for that is the price that you will pay for breaking them. Article One: Treat all crew members as your family. Article Two: No man shall be punished for being unable to finish a task too big for him. Article Three: There is to be no lewdness or mutiny on board this ship. Article Four: There is to be no women forced onto this ship for lewd purposes. Article Five: All men shall receive a portion of their treasure that is equal to your work and status on board this ship. Article Six: No man will smoke below decks, or have a lit lantern uncovered below death. Article Seven: If a man loses a limb in the line of duty, he shall be compensated according to the severity of his injury.

"Do you so solemnly swear on this axe to follow the rules set down by the current captain of this here vessel on the penalty of death or marooning?" He grabbed my hand and wrapped it around the splintery hatchet's handle.

"I will." My voice rang out my resolution; it revealed my determination and resilience. There was no bravado in my voice to be found. Sparrow offered me a quill from inside his jacket. Reaching down to my belt for my knife, I placed it in my hand, closed my fingers around it, and sliced a shallow cut down the middle of my palm. Taking the proffered quill, I dipped it into the cut, and wrote my name down in the book. The blood from my signature ran into the names of others in the book. From amongst the crowd, a silver goblet of rum was handed to me. I grinned and drank up the entire chalice of spicy caramel liquor on my own, without spilling a drop. The company cheered; I was now one of them.

Getting a look from Barbossa, I was finally allowed to take the bandage off around my eye. I heard the remarks when the crew beheld my handiwork. Jack took my hand and wrapped it up in cloth, soaking up the blood. One of the others handed me my own cutlass for battles. It was no thing of beauty, but it would serve my purposes.

The crew and I headed down to the shore for a well-deserved dinner. For the fun of it, I swam to the shore, the tense muscles of my body becoming at home in the warm night-time waters; I took care to make sure that my belongings did not get wet by wrapping them up in my oilskins.

There, basking in the setting sun upon the shore was a very welcome sight. A bonfire was slowly barbecuing a pig, stuffed with potatoes and taro root, and spiced in a manner that made it smell like the nectar of the gods. There were casks of rum, fruit from the island's trees, and a round of cheese from the pirate's cellar. The pirates plied my plate high with all of this good food, saying that I was too bony for a growing boy my age. Declining the rich cheese, I ate up slowly, my stomach feeling its first nourishment after nine months of less than meagre rations, starving from the lack of sustenance. I drank my fair share of liquor as well. Rum flowed steadily into the sand.

When I had my fill of food and felt tired, I swam back to the ship alone. I folded up my hammock, and moved all of my belongings onto a bed attached to the wall; it was the top of a bunk bed that was shared with the rest of the crew, but it was a solid berth. There was a small chink in the wood that allowed me a full view of the moonlight shimmering over the limpid ocean. I wearily made my bed with a pillow that I picked off the floor and the two blankets in my satchel. When my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep soundly for the first time in about nine months.

The next morning, I woke up to find that the rest of the crew was still on the island, sleeping off last's night indulgence; I had the ship to myself. A note was knifed to the post near my head. In Sparrow's messy scrawl, it outlined my duties for the day. He wrote that he needed to find out how I was able to handle ship's work on my own. I was to scrub the decks and the masts until they were free of all of the matter that was encrusted on the surfaces. After that was done, I was to holystone the decks until they were as soft and as smooth as satin. Holystones are so called because they are heavy granite stones that were roughly about the size of a Bible; they were also incredibly hard on the muscles of hands and shoulders. It was extremely tough work, but I got to it.

First, I took a stiff brush and a pail of fresh water, and I scrubbed the deck, until all of the salt and sea grime that clung to the wood was removed. Then I went after the mast; I scrubbed it until it shone with the angel rays from the sun. By now, it was about noon, and the sky was beginning to cloud over. Sweeping all of the remains off of the deck, my hard day's work was half over. Taking a short water-and-bread break, I stretched my shoulders and arms for the work that lay ahead in holystoning the deck, from fore to aft, from port to starboard. I spread a thin layer of sand across the breadth of the decks, and rubbed the stone across the deck in straight lines, one line at a time, over and over, until the deck was like silk to the touch. By the time that I finished holystoning the deck, and sweeping the sand off of the deck, it was just like brand-new, shining its oaken beauty despite the lack of sunlight. I literally crawled back to my new bunk, and fell wearily asleep, after my first full day of being a part of Jack's crew.

Over the next couple of weeks, we continued to outfit the _Black Pearl _for her renewed life as a piratical vessel. Most of the men worked at replacing the destroyed wood with fresh oak from the _New Hope_, caulking the ship from scratch and finally making her completely seaworthy. Some men worked at repairing the sails, borrowing some of the sails from my old ship. One man worked on our new flag: a white skull super-imposed on two cutlasses on a black background. Others worked at preparing the food, smoking meat into jerky, drying batches of fruits and vegetables, and baking hard bread for the journey. I worked with the trading between the locals, exchanging useless goods from Jack's multitudinous previous journeys for what we were going to need.

Before we set sail, Jack pulled me aside. "Now, Matt." He looked down at me with a concerned look on his face. "Why did you get the whip scars on your back?" My shirt was off, and my upper back, the only part that was not bandaged, was fully visible to the _Pearl_'s crew.

I had not told him that when we first met. I put down the goods that I had just procured from trading with the natives on the ground. "The captain felt that I was a sub-standard sailor. I was learning as we were travelling, and I made mistakes. No one was killed from them," I reassured Jack when the concern on his face became more alarmingly plain, "but I had to guess a lot about what I was trying to do."

"Wait, wait, wait... No one's taught you anything on that ship?" He just began to laugh, his white teeth shining against the tan of his skin. I felt embarrassed about this. Jack would now realize that it was a mistake to allow me to sign on, and he would leave me on the island when the ship was ready to make way. "Well, we's only got a week. Let's fix that!"

He literally dragged me by the wrist over to the carpenter's station. "Hey, Duffy! Perkins!" The same two men that were looking for me after the battle two weeks beforehand raised their heads at the captain's voice; both of them scurried down the ratlines and landed with a jump in front of us. Placing his hand on my shoulder, Randolf addressed the two. "Matt here just told me that he wishes to expand his knowledge of sail and ropes. It appears as though the gutless bastard that called himself 'captain' did not teach Matt anything."

With those words and a grin on their faces, Perkins and Duffy shoved me up the ladder and up the ropes to the main mast. I spent the next week solid in that sail, learning the names of the lines and the masts, tying different knots for stormy, windy, and calm seas. The three of us had contests to see who could hang upside-down the longest from the ropes without stopping. Other little contests include who could climb the fastest up and down the ropes, and who could walk on the lines without tripping. It was fun, but I learned a lot. Finally, I knew what I was doing wrong all those times, and I knew the proper method to do it right. After that week, both Perkins and Duffy always kept their eye on me; they became my sea-dads, and I was officially adopted into the crew.


	4. Their First Trial

**Their First Trial**

Finally, we were ready to set sail on the open seas. The_ Black Pearl _looked like a respectable merchant ship at first glance. We ran up the sails, and I began my first journey as a pirate under a respectable captain, and not a lunatic or fiend. Before we set sail, I used my knife to shave off my hair to rough brown stubble. I tied my kerchief around my head, and walked back to the _Pearl;_ I was finally ready to set sail under the alias of Matthew Cutting, not as a woman disguised as a man to escape the whims of her family.

Once we had set sail and were on our way, I spied Perkins and Duffy tossing a gold coin into the deep. Walking up to them, I leaned against the railing with them. "Hey, Duffy?"

"Yeah, Cutting?" Duffy stood by me while Perkins went back to work.

"Why'd you toss that coin in the water?"

He chuckled a bit before he answered. "It's worship, Matt. The sea's ruled by Calypso, a local goddess. Every sailor worth his salt knows that it's Calypso that gives men good passage on voyages. I toss a gold coin in the deep every day that I'm alive at sea, thanking her for the gift to live on her waters."

Without another word, he gave me another one of his coins. I did not pause as I tossed the coin into the waters. Duffy patted my shoulders before shoving me into the ratlines for work.

Oddly enough, Jack had a library of books stashed in his cabin; during the high noon that day, I looked for references of Calypso. In all my researching of pirates, I had never come across her. It proved worthwhile. One of Sparrow's tomes informed me that Calypso had been imprisoned in a human body, barred from the sea. It was best to remain on the side of the immortal, so everyday afterwards I tossed a single gold coin into the water just like Duffy had told me to.

You never forget the first battle. It was one week into my new masquerade. I was white to the face, my stomach was knotting itself over and over again; in spite of that, I never let go of my weapons. My cutlass and knife were honed to kill; my pistol was primed and loaded for the fight. The _Black Pearl_ would appear like an merchant ship from afar, sailing along the horizon while she moved closer to our chosen prize. Several of the crew would walk around on the deck doing normal ship's duty, while the rest of us would hide underneath the railing, out of sight from eye and telescope.

When we were close enough to broadside the ship, we would arise from our hiding places and commence to yell curses and sailors' oaths towards the other ships; one person would run up the sweeps, our flag whipping a threat in the breeze. Always, Sparrow would order the long nine cannons to be shot to create more noise and damage; it would also create as a smokescreen to confuse our opponents, while we would hook to the ship with grappling hooks and swing across to board our prize.

For us, looting ships was a part of our life. For the crew of our prize, it must have probably felt like sinking into hell right before you finally die. By the time Jack and Barbossa took their first step onto the captured ship, the captain and crew would have usually surrendered, and their weapons would have been gathered and stripped from them. Once the crew had surrendered, I would pick a passenger at random, make him kneel before the crowd, and hold my knife to their throat; this helped to create fear and to ensure the crew's cooperation. It also helped to cover up the fact that I was scared out of my mind about these little excursions at first. Walking around and inspecting the ship, Jack would politely ask the captain what kind of cargo he was carrying, and if he carried any bullion or coin on board. Underneath his breath, Barbossa would add that if he tried to resist, he and his crew would have wished that they were dead by the time that he was done with them.

The captain, if he were smart, would tell us what cargo he held. Then Barbossa, strangely enough, would ask any of the crew and passengers if they wanted to join our crew. If there were any volunteers, Perkins would pick the man off the ground and place him among the crew. All of the remaining crew and passengers, along with the captain and his officers, would be placed in a boat pointed toward shore.

If the captain were not a smart man, he would mouth off to Barbossa, and end up signing the execution order of himself and all of his officers. The passengers would still be allowed to choose between the boat and the life of piracy. In both cases, once the cargo was transported from one ship to another, the ship was set ablaze while we sailed away.

I loved working on the _Black Pearl_. As always, I would knuckle my brow when I was reprimanded for anything in my duties. I was not made fearful of the whip to my back if I performed a task wrong. If I did do something wrong, the bo'sun would not give me my rations for the day, and I would be banished to the sails for the rest of the day. To me, that was no punishment at all, since I had lived like that for most of my service on the _New Hope_. I felt free, freer than I ever felt before. I made friends among the crew; I stopped isolating myself in the sails all the time. I even slipped down onto the riggings underneath the bowsprit, and let the waves wash over me; it was so exhilarating, especially when I saw my first dolphin with my own eyes. The greatest improvement from the _New Hope_ to the _Black Pearl_ was that I had fun: everyone laughed and had a merry time together, never in fear of a whip or a beating.

However, it was not always fun for all. One of the riggers, Dawson, started to pick a fight with me after duties were over. It started as jealousy over my ability to read, but it quickly escalated beyond that. I tried to act friendly towards the crew, but he was simply filled with a weird disdain for me.

"'Ey there, shortie!" He would always say that first. "What's a shrimp like you doin' on a ship with the big fish, eh? Why don't you go read up somethin' for the Captain to awe over?"

By now, I was tired. So I wanted these little quarrels to be over with. "Just leave me's be, Dawson." Then I would just simply walk away to the berths for sleep.

Usually, the taunts would end there. But Dawson was not satisfied yet. Soon the taunts grew to humiliation. He would carefully knot the ropes from the sails around my boot, making me fall from above and hang there. He got quite a laugh out of it, but the crew just looked away. Nicking me with his knife, punching me in the arm; Dawson had his sick fun everyday day like this. Me, I would head to my berths to fix myself up, and then go back on deck.

Finally, Dawson escalated to full-out violence. Of course, he did it only in private, away from the eyes of the crew and Captain. So after one of the more recent of our "little encounters" below decks, he left me with a dislocated shoulder, a bruised eye, a split lip, a cut running along my hairline that did not stop bleeding, a bloody nose, and several broken fingers. Duffy was the one who found me.

"'ey, Cutting!" He had come looking for me; I had been missing from my duties for almost an hour. "Matt, Captain wants to see you!" He found me on the floor of the berths, lying in the blood pouring from my nose. "Perkins! Get you ass down 'ere now! Cutting's been beat!" But Perkins did not come down that hatch; it was Jack. He and Duffy dragged my semi-conscious body up the hatch and onto the deck, amidst the shocked expressions of my crewmates. From out of the corner of my good eye, I could see Dawson sniggering as my beaten body was dragged across the quarterdeck, my limp feet hitting each of the planks as they carried me to Jack's cabin.

"Jesus, Jack!" I did not care at this point to stand on title. I pulled my dagger out from my belt and wedged it in my mouth. Pushing him out of the way, I slammed my shoulder against the keel and back into place. I saw stars and bit into the dagger. It hurt so much, like fire was being lit on my shoulder, and then ice was melted on top of that. I screamed a loud one, probably waking up the dead in Havana. There was now a permanent mark on the leather of my knife from where I had bit it. Then, as suddenly as the pain began, it stopped.

Jack forced me onto the ground and strapped my shoulder in place. He obviously knew his way around a dislocated shoulder; he also had broken fingers under his belt, as he set my finger bones back in place and wrapped them in place to keep them still. "You're out for six weeks, Matt. Oie!" He waved his hands to the gathering crew leaning against the wall to see what was going on. Perkins and Duffy, seeing what was going on, beat back the crowd to go back to their duties, using both words and their fists. I tried to thank them with a nod, but my shoulder hurt too much for me to move my head.

"All right, boy... What the hell happened to you? "Concern made Sparrow's brow furrow, as he knelt down in front of me.

"I can't tell you. He'll kill me next time." I shook my head very carefully; my shoulder gave me pain again, making me grimace.

"Who? Who'll kill you?"

"I can't, Captain!" Dawson made sure to strike fear in me this time around. I was afraid of what he would do to me next time.

"Matt, you have my word. When you're healed, you and whoever did this can settle this in a duel of swords. Now tell me, who did this to you?"

Well, I had the Captain's assurances that he would not interfere. "It was Dawson. He's one of the riggers. He hates my guts, probably because I can read."

"Dawson! That son of a bilge rat! You want to duel him?!" Jack was a rich plum in his dark face as he began to pace around the room. "He's twice yer size!"

"Yes! You gave me your word, Jack!" I stood up from the bed. "Don't you interfere with this; this is my business now!" With that, I stalked out of the berth. I saw Duffy's shocked look at the bandages around my shoulder, visible against the bloody fabric; the bandages told the story that I did not want to at this point.

For the next six weeks, I stayed in the berths, not working in the sails, as per Jack's orders. But I was far from idle. I practiced my duelling skills. It felt awkward holding my cutlass in my left hand, but since my right shoulder was wrapped up in bandages, I could simply not practice with it.

Once six weeks had passed, Jack removed the bandages around my shoulder and fingers. They were completely healed, albeit incredibly stiff. He helped me to move the muscles around to warm them up again. Only one thing was on my mind: my revenge against Dawson.

It happened that afternoon. Jack called Dawson and me before the mast at quarterdeck. "Jacob Dawson, you are hereby accused of breaking the foremost of the Articles of this ship: Treat all crew as your family." For once, Jack was serious; he obviously did not have his early morning rum today. Do you deny it?" By now, the entire crew was gathering around Jack and Barbossa, to see what kind of a storm was brewing on the horizon.

"Of course, I deny it! If this crew is a family, why am I being accused of being a big brother to Cutting here? After all, don't big brothers pick fights with their little brothers?" His voice was as slick as grease, but his eyes, dark and forbidding grey, told an entirely different story.

"I was present, along with Duffy Fisher, when his injuries were assessed. Matthew Cutting himself confided in me that you continually used violence and humiliation tactics against him on more that one occasion. Do you still deny your accusations?" At this, Dawson grew stone-faced. He was cornered, with no way to get out of it.

I finally stepped forward. "Captain Sparrow, as my right by the Articles, I demand the right of combat with this man to settle our dispute."

"Your request is granted, Matthew Cutting. As the one whom the damage has been done to, you may have control of the time and the place of the combat."

"Right here, right now." Even as I talked, I took off my jacket. Last night, I sharpened my cutlass; now, I pulled it out of its sheath. "To the death!"

At my last declaration, the crew got excited. "That's right, boy!" "Give him his due, Matt!" "You're meat now, Dawson!" No one on the _Pearl_ liked Dawson; so now, he was about to get his comeuppance.

Neither Jack nor Barbossa did anything more. Our swords were out, our jackets were off. From his deep red face and the way that his body swayed, Dawson had been a little too indulgent in the rum rations last night, so his sword work was bound to be sloppy. It was too easy; I ran up to him. He tried to block me, but I was truer in my aim. I thrust my sword through his gullet. He was shocked at the metal piercing his belly; chuckling, he fell to the ground at my feet with a thud. The fight was over; Dawson lost, and had paid for his maliciousness with the ultimate price.

Barbossa, oddly enough, was the first one to talk, breaking the silence that Dawson's death had created. "Well lad, you've proven yourself today." I was too sick to talk. Running to the port side, I leaned over and let loose my breakfast. I thought that Dawson would at least give me a fight, but the drink had made him stupid. I did not like to kill a man in cold blood. I heard somebody yank my sword out of Dawson's corpse, and drop it at my feet.

Turning around, I grabbed my ration of water and rinsed the bile out of my mouth. I picked up my bloody sword from the deck, and shoved it back in the scabbard, blood and all. Without another word, I turned back and walked to the berths.

"Hey, Cutting!" Gerald O'Niell yelled at my back, making me stop. Turning around, I stared straight in his watery blue eyes. "You've earned your place now. You're truly one of us." Shaking my head, I walked down into the berth for some sleep, trying to get rid of the sight of Dawson bleeding on the deck out of my mind.

After the death of Dawson, the crew came to trust me. Besides my duty of furling and unfurling the sails, the crew gave me more duties to perform on board. One of my duties included becoming the ship's surgeon. That meant more time spent in the berths practicing my stitches on pieces of salted pork. Barbossa cleared out one of the storage rooms below deck for me to use both as my berth and as the infirmary. Jack had managed to get me a set of drugs and medical bandaging from one of our stops; my heart leapt when I saw the three vials of opium, the best painkiller there was. I had Gerald install a locked cabinet so that the men could not come in and steal my drugs. But that was not the only thing that I had to learn.

On my free days, Barbossa and Jack let me chart our courses using the maps that I had drawn back at home and my navigation tools. It was here that I learned of Jack's compass. An odd thing, but very useful, it pointed in the direction of where we wanted to go. For Jack, that meant mostly to the rum locker. In my hands, it followed the courses that I charted and ended up with the chests of treasure buried in the numerous islands of the Caribbean.

Jack was quite impressed with my navigational skills, that he ended up putting me on an afternoon shift of helms-man duty every three days. It was an exhilarating experience being on the helm, especially during a storm. In a gale, you have to hold on tight to the helm, so tight that your knuckles turned white. However, you must also concentrate on the bo'sun's cry to change directions. I loved every minute of it. The helm felt like an extension of my body; it was extraordinarily easy for me to learn. Jack, a natural born sailor himself, confided in me that I was a born natural. In part of this, I received two of the weekly night time watches, monitoring the waters up in the crow's-nest.

After a recent battle, Sparrow told me that he, Barbossa, and the bo'sun (a giant of a man from Senegal) were impressed by my marksmanship and my balance in the ropes. My shooting skills had improved from my battle on the _New Hope_. I could now load a gun quickly, the quickest in the crew. I also could shoot a target dead on in one shot. My balance in the ropes came from the nine months of sail duty on board the _New Hope_. So, they granted me the position of sharpshooter. Before a battle, they would tie me in the rigging and I would shoot off key officers during skirmishes. After my first fight as a sharpshooter, I was rewarded with a proper rifle to use instead of the flimsy duelling pistol that I currently used in battle. I still kept the pistol on me, because it was the only close-range weapon, besides my blades, that I could use in battle.


	5. Treasure Beyond Their Wildest Dreams

**Treasure Beyond Their Wildest Dreams**

In the first few months of my being on board the _Swift_, I became a close friend to both Jack and Barbossa. Due to my pirate journals, we gained a colossal amount of treasures in very little time. All of the helmsmen, including me, had strict orders about which waters we were to avoid, being either foreign pirate territory, or they were the hunting grounds for brigands and thieves like us. Rarely did we attack ships of British origin; they never had any treasure for us, anyways. I did not mind, as the French, Spanish, and Dutch ships were still full of the cargo that we craved.

Besides hitting the treasure ships, there were many other cargos that we plundered. We ransacked the French ships for wines, perfumes, various gems set in gold and silver, and the Chinese silks and jade jewellery that were the new fashions. From the Spanish ships, there were fruits, flowers, chocolate, and oils, soaps, and elixirs to use on our bodies with luxury. Dutch ships provided crockery of bone china, and real silverware. It was a good life that we led.

After almost every year of plundering, our keel was close to the breaking point because of all of the swag that we carried. According to the Code, we divided the plunder according to how much work the man had done, and his rank on board the ship. My share was almost two hundred fifty pounds a year, a small fortune in gold and jewels. As soon as we were secured in the closest town harbour, we were set loose, being sea bound for a year. Soon afterwards, the crew would all return to the _Pearl_, because they had wasted all of the hard-earned swag on the local pub houses and the whore houses, almost in the same way as my brothers used to do on their nightly gambling trips.

My favourite port was the pirate-run town of Tortuga. It was the rowdiest, most despicable port in the Spanish Main. No real gentleman would ever step foot in it, which was why I liked it, being a gentleman of fortune myself. None of the strumpets who plied their trade along the boulevards understood why a young man like me did not want to enjoy their company while I was here; to answer them, I would simply smile and keep walking.

I would stop only in the _Locker of Davy Jones_ to drink a long draught and to chatter up with the bartender, Lightfingers. 'Fingers was a former thief, missing an ear to prove it (it was the law of Tortuga to cut off the ear of a proven thief if he was caught performing his trade). He was a young man, with brown hair that was cut by a blind man, an old cut running through his blind eye, and scars over every inch of himself. Whenever I came to the _Locker of Davy Jones_, 'Fingers would have my pint of rum waiting for me, and he would stop his business to chatter up with me about the latest news about the roaming pirates of the deep. After listening to his tales, I would head out to the docks and lay on the shore, falling asleep with the stars and the moon to watch over me and the ship.

One of the nights that I was in the tavern, I asked Lightfingers a strange question. After a night of quality rum being poured down my throat, it felt normal to ask, "'Fingers, what do you know about Davy Jones?"

"Why would ye want to know about 'im?" Shuddering from my question, he patted his pocket. "Sorry, tis an old 'abit. Ye see 'ow I keep it filled wit' dirt; ye know why?" He didn't give me a chance to answer. "It's 'cause Davy Jones can't step on land. Ye see, Matt, a curse was laid on 'im so that 'e can't step on land for ten years. Even then, 'e's only allowed the one day." He was looking at me like a grandfather telling his anxious grandson a bedtime story meant to scare him.

"How do you know so much about him, 'Fingers?" I twirled around my bottle of rum on the counter.

"Ye see, I's don't normally tell this to customers, 'cause it scares them, like. Every man, before 'is death at sea, is given a choice: to go straight to God's judgment, or to serve on the Flying Dutchman for one hundred years under Jones. Me, I chose the service; I wasn't just about to give up me life when it just had started, eh? Butt's ye see: I's was smart. I was the only one to escape the eternal service of Davy Jones, on board the _Flying Dutchman_."

"How'd you do it, 'Fingers?" Now, I knew that this was Lightfingers' con for customers, but curiosity was winning over common sense.

"I bet all of it, all one 'undred years of service, in a game of Liar's Dice against Jones. Now, if I'd lost, I'd be serving two 'undred years instead of one. But Lady Luck was with me; I bluffed Jones, and won. My wish was granted, and I'd no longer serve on board that phantom ship which haunted these waters." I was enthralled with the stories of Davy Jones, but the rest of my crew just scoffed at me. This served to separate me from the crew.

I was different from the rest of the crew in another way; I saved all of my swag. I sewed up one of my blankets and made myself another satchel to hold my reserves. In order to avoid anyone stealing my stuff, I hid the treasure bag in my other satchel, underneath my bed. Over time, the satchel grew stuffed with treasure, but I managed to keep it hidden from the rest of the crew, who scoured the ship trying to find my stash to spend trying to buy more liquor and time with the whores. They never thought to look in the locked cabinet with the drugs, because that was where I hid them.

From our own treasure stores, I swiped a few of the goods as part of my share. I took a fancy to the Chinese silks, the jade, the gems, the perfumes, and the body elixirs and soaps that were in the swag, and I petitioned to Sparrow to set them aside for me. Thinking me eccentric, he only happily obliged; they were not valuable as cargo went. When I was on my own, I would take out some of the little vials and smell them, letting the smells of rose and sandalwood, lilac and mint fill my noses. Sometimes, I would even rub a little of the perfumes on my wrists, to make myself feel like a girl again.

I adored the brightly coloured patterns of the silks, particularly the phoenixes and dragons. When I was up on watch duty, I began to sew myself a quilt, using the insides of my blankets and soft gauze that I kept stashed in the infirmary. It was a beautiful thing in the end. I had chosen a black silk with brightly coloured dragons and phoenixes of many hues all around the fabric. However, to avoid jeers from the crew, I packed it up carefully in my satchel.

On one of our stops in Tortuga, I traveled through the bazaars, looking idly at the wares for sale. My eyes fell on three things that were of great interest to me. There was a wide brown leather bandolier, which was able to store multiple weapons on my person; it was like a belt, only it went from my shoulder to my hip, instead of around my waist. Another item was an all purpose whetstone, for sharpening the edges of my blades. The last item was an Italian violin, which I planned to re-teach myself to play. It was made of red oak, and tuned to soothe even the heart of a savage beast. I paid for all of these items with a small portion of my share. Soon after, other items joined them in my satchel, as mementos from my stops: an hourglass from Nassau; a set of Toledo steel throwing knives; a lock-picking set; a bottle of rum that I pilfered from Lightfingers' cellar, and which I refilled every time I visited; a compass; a silver Celtic cross pendant from the markets in San Juan; leather arm guards; three small daggers that I stashed in the tops of my boot and the small of my back. All of these, I either ended up wearing, or they found their way in my satchel.

As for my instruments, the pipes that I had made and the violin that I had bought, I played them at night for the crew. It became almost a nightly performance. This helped me to re-teach myself how to play the violin, and to learn how to play the pipes. However, there was a slight problem: I could not play classical pieces for a crew of scallywags. So I strived to teach myself some sea chanties from the Irish and British of the crew. There were a couple Germans on board, so they taught me how to play drinking songs, along with the Irish. Finally, I learned love songs from the humming of the crew, since they were too embarrassed to sing the lyrics. My favourites to play were the epic ballads, singing of tales long past.

The man who was with Perkins looking for me after the battle on the _New Hope_, Gerald O'Niell, was always crafty with his hands, being the _Pearl_'s resident carpenter. To demonstrate this to me, he took my first doubloon earned, carved a hole through it at the top, and strung some rawhide through it to make a necklace. As a sign of his good will, he gave it to me as a memento of the beginning of my career as a pirate. When I asked him, he pierced my ear with a hot needle, and strung on one of the sapphire drops that was among my prize from one of the more recent sea battles. Seeing how my collection of belongings had grown and my satchel grew smaller, he made me a big chest with a simple lock on it. I was touched, but to add to the security of the chest, I placed skilfully tied knots all around it.

On one of our later jaunts, Jack noticed that the _Black Pearl _looked in desperate need of some repairing. He opted to go for a quick trip to Nassau. When we heard his choice, it was like lighting a flame under a beehive. The reason that we were all so frightened was because Nassau was the port of the Spanish Main that the Navy inhabited all of the time. No sane pirate or crew would go near Nassau, not unless he had a date with the Devil, and wanted a death wish branded on his forehead. The brand on Jack's arm was proof enough of that.

However, our trip to Nassau was a little beneficial: I picked up two new shoulder bags for my belongings; my old ones were becoming a little rag-tag around the edges. Also when we were in Nassau, Jack persuaded me to place my eternally-growing collection of coinage and gemstones and even some of my more valuable belongings, like the china and silver, the oils and the lotions, into a safety deposit box that belonged to a reputable banking establishment; now I could access it around the Caribbean, and not have to worry about my crew stealing my share of the treasure. I kept the key around my neck on a piece of rawhide, along with the little silver key to the drug cabinet.


	6. The Mark of the Trade

**The Mark of the Trade**

Our little trip to Nassau gave the crew a little opportunity to do a little hazing to their newest member, with Barbossa's permission, of course. It was a norm that every man who served on board the _Pearl_ had to have a tattoo on the inside of one of his forearms. It had to be a symbol of their name. Duffy Fisher had a pike with its jaws open. Perkins Shipman had a pirate ship sailing on the water with billowing sails on his arm. Every man had a tattoo. Everyone, that is, but me.

While I was watching the sea after our repair trip to Nassau, the crew took its chance. I was not paying attention to the crew, but to the rolling motions of the briny blue before my eyes. Gerald was the one who snuck up on me. He covered my eyes with a piece torn from his shirt. That is when the hazing began.

"'Ey! Git yer paws off, mate!" I struggled to get the blindfold off, but he had knotted it good. "What's goin' on?" Suddenly, I felt strong hands grab my shoulders. I had the sensation of being lifted off the ground by my feet, and being lowered to the ground. I began to curse only as a sailor could when I was held down to the deck.

"What the hell's goin' on, mates? What you tryin' to do to me?" Naturally, I began to struggle, but then I could feel the hands on my shoulders begin to restrain me. Two hands pinned down each of my arms; another two men sat on my legs. My wrist guard was pulled off my left arm; that arm was held off to the side. Perkins (I could tell from the way his clothes stank) shoved his knife, tough leather sheath and all, into my mouth, tied it around my head, and then used his knees to pin my shoulders to the wooden deck. I began to fight harder when someone new wrapped bands of coarse cloth around my forearm, at the wrist and at the elbow, and tied it tight, cutting off most of the circulation. A pit the size of a fist was forming in my chest, making me feel more scared than I have ever felt before.

"What are you bilge rats doing?!" I heard a familiar voice shouting above the men. All of the men got off my body, except Perkins. He knelt heavily on my shoulders, probably to prevent me from escaping. I felt sea-worn leather rub my hand. From the sounds of it, Jack was not told about this, and he was definitely not happy with this at all. As a matter of fact, neither was I.

I tried to yell "What's goin' on?!", but it came out in muffled noises because of the knife currently inhabiting my mouth.

"What is the meaning of this? What are you doing to him?" Jack's voice was deadly soft, like a viper about to strike.

"Ah, Jack," one man complained; from the sound of it, it was Barbossa. "I gave them permission to do this to young Cutting. Don't start messin' up the fun!" He obviously didn't catch Jack's tone of voice.

"What the hell are you doing to him!?" The furious captain yelled over the crowd. He began cutting away at the knots around my arm, releasing me from one of my restraints.

"We's givin' 'im a tattoo! Lord knows, it's time 'e was initiated proper-like." At that, Jack stopped trying to remove the restraints.

"Matthew, can you nod if you hear me?" He knelt by my head. I nodded my head, trying to swallow the spit pooling in the back of my throat. "All right, Matt. It's a tradition among the crew that all men receive a tattoo of their namesake on their forearm, after three years of service. You are the newest member of the crew, and it's your turn."

"'Urry up, will you? Duffy's anxious to get started!"

"Hold up. Matt, it completely passed my mind about this, savvy? Can't do nothing to stop it, savvy?" I nodded my head as best as I could; Perkin had tied that blindfold and gag pretty tight. "Okay. I'll be..." He was shoved out of the way.

"Move, Cap'n! We's got's to 'old 'im down anyway, so's 'e won't wreck Duff's work." The men moved back into position, the cloth went back around my forearm. This time, I was calmer and I had stopped struggling, now that I knew what the hell was going on. Duffy, besides being my sea dad, was one of the few men that I trusted. I had seen his work before, drawing on watcher's duty up in the crow's-nest. He was real good at what he does.

I felt Duffy kneel by my forearm. "All right, boy, clench yer fist, and don't move too much. I's going to start the tattoo." Sweat began to roll down my brow, as Duffy ran his knife deep into my tanned skin. It hurt a lot, that initial start. I tried to scream, but instead I bit down on the knife in my mouth. I bit so hard, that I could taste my own blood. My hand began to cramp from me squeezing it in that position. I could not tell what was happening, but I was suddenly grateful for all of the men sitting on me, making sure that I did not jerk while Duffy worked.

After what felt like almost an hour, Duffy removed the knife from my skin. I made to sit up, but no one got off. I realized that the ordeal was not over yet. Duffy took a wet brush and went over the tattoo again. Once that was done, the men started to disperse, walking back to their duties. I think it was Watts who wrapped my arm up in cloth, covering up the tattoo. One by one, the men got off of me. Perkins was the last to get off. Carefully, he untied the knife from around my head, and removed it from my month. I rolled over, and spat out all the excess that had gathered in the back of my throat. Before removing the blindfold, he told him in his liquor-stink voice not to remove the bandage for two weeks, not even to peek; it would give the tattoo enough time to let the blood and ink mix and dye on my skin. Nodding to tell him yes, he took off the blindfold, and tossed me my arm guard.

After two weeks, Barbossa got the honor of removing the bandage from my arm before the crew. The crew gathered round; it was always exciting to see a new tattoo. When he finally removed the last of the bandages, I was amazed by what I saw on my arm. There, covering my red and swollen skin was an intricate black hunting knife. The blade was clean, but it was drawn to make it shine in the sun. The handle had a detailed grip to it. In fact, the knife on my arm looked almost exactly like the blade that I always carried with me. It was amazing. I turned and gruffly thanked Duffy for his work.

Randolf came forward from the queue. "Matthew Cutting, as a crewman of the_ Black Pearl _for nearly four years now, it is time you received a new weapon." Taking my duelling pistol from my bandolier, he tossed it behind his back. Reaching behind him, he placed into my hand a set of two proper blunderbusses. They were a work of beauty, with oaken handles and steel stocks. Tears of joy shook at the bottom of my eyes as I stuck the guns into my bandolier. Now I was truly a pirate, sailing at sea with my family. But my family was heading into hard times...


	7. The Darkest Time: Betrayal

**The Darkest Time: Betrayal**

On our way between the English port of Nassau and the French port of Eleuthera two days after my tattoo had been revealed, a flagless merchant ship sailing deep in the water passed by us. We were bored, and yearned for a fight. So we did not hesitate to loot and sink the ship, killing everyone on board. Little did we know, until it was too late, that this particular merchant ship was sailing with the East India Trading Company, and that not too far behind it, was sailing its Naval escort. Unfortunately for us, the escort was closing in on us. We ended up paying for our mistake dearly...

After a brutal fight, in which we were outnumbered and outgunned, and therefore lost, the crew of the naval ship ferried us on board their galleon. I mouthed off to one of the officers, saying that we were not pirates but just merchants. Our flag was hidden after all. I was not fast enough to duck a musket butt to the jaw from a nearby officer. After we were shepherded on board the naval vessel, our weapons were stripped from us, we were made to kneel, and our hands were tied behind our backs. The _Black Pearl_ was tied to the galleon's rear so that it could be towed into harbour as proof of our identity: the most wanted pirate crew in the Caribbean.

We were chained together and led to the orlop deck, or the deck just below the main. We were abused, both physically and mentally. Every day, the same group of midshipmen would come down and punch us in the guts, chuckling at every blow. Some of us would be tied up and whipped; I was always chosen for this particular experiment. The officers always got a good laugh over who screamed the loudest when the salt water was splashed on our backs. Others had their hands tied behind their backs and their faces shoved into water bins, to see how long they could stay underwater without drowning first. They took joy in taking the brands and burning the single "P" that marked us as pirates, into our forearms right below our tattoos. They revelled in our shrieks of pains. One of the midshipmen took pleasure in ramming my jaw back into place, with more than one ill-placed punch. The officers grumbled as they fed us table scraps and stale water, saying that we did not deserve it.

My body portrayed the crew's feelings. Where the midshipman had punched my face to reset my jaw, there was a huge mottled bruise, somewhere between the colors of pure black and a deep purple-blue. My nose was broken from the same punches. My face grew gaunt, and the clothes on my back hung loosely from my once muscled build. The marks of the whip grew more and more numerous. We all knew that we were going to die. In our hearts, I knew that we would have all rather died right here in the hold surrounded by our family of scallywags, than doing the hempen jig alone in front of a crowd of jeering onlookers.

Believe or not, I met the most unexpected person amongst the crew of Navy men. I was looking up at the grate, absorbing the few precious rays of sunlight flowing into our cells, when I saw a familiar person walking by, talking to the lieutenant. He was my brother, Jacob! Believe it or not, he wore the insignia of a post captain of the British Royal Navy. In that instant, I felt a plan come to mind.

Standing on a barrel and pressing my face against the grate, I yelled up to the surface. "Sir! I would like to speak to the captain!" The lieutenant opened up the hatch, and he and Jacob came down, illuminating their way with a lit lantern. Jacob kept his handkerchief pressed to his nose; we had not had a chance to bath recently, being on our way to a trial that would lead to death.

"Good sir, I would like to talk to you, in private if that would be alright?" I asked him, trying my hardest to keep up my guise of a male pirate by keeping my face in the shadows. My mates looked at me as if I was going crazy. Jack tried to make me sit down; I just brushed his motions aside.

"Yes, you may. Come with me." Jacob motioned for the lieutenant, who released me from my fetters. Keeping a hold on my chains, he led me up the stairs, onto the deck, and inside of his private quarters.

"So, what do you wish to talk about, sir?" Jacob sat behind his desk, and started to write and review some of the documents on his deck.

"Jacob, do you not remember me? It's me, your sister, Jessica!"

That got his attention. Jacob looked at me; a look of utter shock slid onto his face. "How do you know about Jessica? It's not possible. Jessica was kidnapped in the middle of the night almost five years ago..."

"No, Jacob. I was not kidnapped; I ran away. I could not stand it, you and Joshua and John wasting our money, while I was going to be married up to Sir Goodall, to repair your damage! This is me! It was your gambling and wantonness and Father's choice of husband that turned me this card, and I took the chance!"

"Jessica? Can it really be you?" Jacob stood up from his desk, and started to examine my face. Jacob stood me in the eye. He looked so different, with his thoughtful sky blue eyes, a shepherd's build, and his matured face; youth was chiselled away from his now severe-shaped face. He was growing a little blonde beard in the dent in his chin, accompanied by a thin moustache. When the shock finally dissolved, he embraced me. He started to cry out, "Praise God, we have found you." The tears began to flow from both his and my eyes, and he began to stroke my downy hair. It felt so strange; initially I was shocked and did not know what to do. Wiping his eyes, he found the keys to the chain and freed my wrists. "Wait here," Jacob ordered. Turning, he abruptly left the cabin, his calfskin boots striking the wood of the deck.

I leaned against his desk, chafing my sore wrists, and cleaning the tears off my dirty face with the heels of my hands. I noticed that on his desk stood a portrait; I thought at first that it must have been his wife. But Jacob did not have a ring on his finger. My heart jolted when I realized the portrait was of me. He must have had it done after I ran away, to remind him of his younger sister. How different I was back then: all ladylike and prim, wearing a proper dress. It was now no wonder that Jacob did not recognize me straight off the start. I stared at it while I waited for him to come back.

I did not have to wait long. Jacob came back with two more men. One of the men was taller, and had a muscular build. His face was decorated with vibrant green eyes and brown hair tied off in a horsetail. He was decorated with the insignia of a first lieutenant. The second of the men had a similar face and build as Jacob. The insignia was that of a second lieutenant. Both of them had the same skin; they were my brothers. My heart wrenched a little when they did not recognize me at first. "You wanted to see us, Jacob?" asked the first lieutenant.

"John, Joshua, we have found Jessica!" Jacob pointed to me, while he hurriedly retold my story. Joshua, the shorter one, came up and embraced me; I had my face turned every which way by him, trying to find a piece of resemblance to what he must have thought was my old self. John stood with his arms crossed over his chest, trying to peer into my face; after a moment's hesitation, he gave me his own hug. When we met, he accidentally hit my still tender tattoo. I pulled away, grimacing at the pain.

Jacob came forward and gingerly rolled my sleeve up. There, before his eyes, and the eyes of John and Joshua, was my tattoo. The swelling and the redness had gone down since the day Watts unwrapped it, but it was still very sensitive. My brothers gawked at it for a moment; apparently, they never expected that I would go this deep into my disguise.

"What is this, Jessica?" Jacob sounded concerned. Joshua started shaking his head. John turned away at the sight of the knife engraved on my arm.

"It's my identity on board the ship. On the ship, I'm Matthew Cutting, an orphaned sixteen-year old boy who worked on board the _New Hope_ for nine months, and the _Black Pearl _for three years and ten months. My mother and father were killed in an epidemic that swept the city." Coming out of my mouth, it sounded rational. After all, it had been my life for almost five years. But shame radiated from all three of my brothers; Jacob stopped looking me in the eye. John and Joshua leaned on his desk, appalled at what I had just said.

"What else happened to you, Jessica?" This time, Joshua asked the question. His voice had just finished healing after a sore throat, by the sounds of it.

I touched the sapphire drop where it still hung, dangling from my right ear;pressing my hand against my hair, I revealed to them the two scars from my first sea battle. Shoving out my hands, I let them rub the sea wounds and the calluses that formed from working on board, let them see the red chafed skin where the manacles had rubbed the edges of my wrist guards. I showed them the brand on my left arm, the one that Jacob's own officers did to me. Turning around, I took off my jacket, and unbuttoned my shirt. John came forward to help me, but I shook my head. Letting the clothes fall, my brothers saw the scars on my back from the cat-o'-nine tails, way back from my days on board the _New Hope_. Some of the lesions were newer from the treatment of Jacob's own officers. They also saw the breast bands around my chest, keeping my real identity safe. After they had a good look, I did my shirt up again, and turned around.

Jacob turned around, and sat dumbfounded down in his desk. When he spoke again, his voice was cracking, and tears begun to form around the bottom of his eyes. "Jessica, I am truly sorry. But, as a prisoner of the British Royal Navy, you have been accused of piracy. It is my solemn duty to have to bring you to court, and British justice."

"But Jacob..." This was not right. My own brothers were going to let me swing?

"Don't, Jessica! This is hard enough. Outside of this room, we are no longer brothers and sister. You are a convicted pirate, and the three of us are naval officers."

My voice grew cold and distant. "I am no longer Jessica, brothers. My name is Matthew Cutting." I turned around, gathered up my jacket, and knocked on the door. The lieutenant, standing outside, came in, put the manacles back on my wrists, and led me down below to be chained back with the rest of the crew. He never saw the tears forming in my eyes. The crew asked what happened up there, but I shrugged them off and turned away. I sank down into the corner and stared at the wood for the rest of voyage; I ate nothing, just sat there thinking of how my brothers had given me up for the noose.


	8. Return to the Light

**Return to the Light **

We arrived at the dock of Port Royale, almost two months later. Some of us had died from the treatment on board; the officers just took the bodies and threw them to the sharks. There were no prayers, no proper ceremony. We were filth, and the navy could not wait to get rid of us. The remaining crew from the _Black Pearl_ was brought to trial, and we were convicted of piracy, among many other crimes too heinous to mention in a civilized court. Did these people not understand that piracy was a hard life, and many difficult choices were made in order to survive? Worse, my brothers were in the crowd when our sentences were read out: we were to be taken out on the morrow and hung until dead, for numerous crimes against the Crown, the most prominent being piracy, smuggling, and impersonating a crew of His Majesty's fleet.

Our sly and cunning captain had one last surprise up his sleeve. When we were called on for any last words, Jack just stood up and slowly walked towards the magistrate. The chains around his hands and feet clanked as he walked. Stopping in front of the bench, he silently put his hand in his pant pocket; drawing out a folded and dirty piece of paper, he placed it on the bench and stood back. Confused, the magistrate picked the paper up; his face grew white as a ghost as he read the sheet. Jack Sparrow had produced a letter of marque, signed and stamped by King George II. I had seen it before, and I knew it was a fake, but I did not need to tell that to the court. I have never heard a magistrate apologize so fast, nor an officer of the Royal Navy apologize so many times before in my life! There have been no events to match the humour that I felt on the behalf of the humiliation of His Majesty's Royal Navy, or for the Privy Council of Port Royale.

We were all promptly freed, with the full pardon of the Privy Council on behalf of the treatment bestowed on us by the naval officers who captured us. We were given one week of shore leave while Jack haggled with the Navy to give us back the _Black Pearl_. We were allowed to change our clothes, wash off all the dirt and grime from our bodies, and eat a decent meal after two months of bad rations. Our weapons were returned to us. We were also given medical attention; my hands were held behind me by Duffy as the doctor realigned my broken nose. It was painful, but it was worth it to be able to breathe through my nose again.

In that week, I coerced Jack, Barbossa, and my brothers into sitting for a portrait; I hired a professional artist to do them, even thought I had never lost the skill. They looked so courageous and patriotic in their uniforms; I had to be careful not to cry and distract the artist. After it was done, I placed them in china frames and held it in place with glass, paying the artist extra for a job well done. My face was still bruised from the musket butt and the punches, but still, my brothers came to me later in the week, when Jack gave me a message to meet him down at the docks. Jacob apologized on behalf of his men, and gently caressed the huge bruise on my face.

I pulled away from him, but then on impulse, I hugged him. I realized that he must have been shocked, but he hugged me back. He rubbed my head, because he was still taller than me. My hair was still brown stubble, but in that one gesture, he made me feel like a woman again, even if it was for a few seconds. John and Joshua joined in too, embracing us all. In that one moment, we were a family again. Jacob gave me the address of his home and the addresses of Joshua and John, so I could write letters to all of them about my adventures.

"Matt, before you go, there is something that we all want to give to you." From behind their backs, all three of my brothers pulled out a gift for me. Joshua gave me a tricorn hat, to go over my shorn hair and blue bandana. Upon receiving it, I shoved it on my head; it was an excellent fit. It was a perfect gift, to protect my head from the sun's heat and searing light. From John, I received a lockable sea chest made of oak, for me to store all my belongings in, instead of my flimsy shoulder satchel. I thanked John especially; my satchel was now well beyond repair, and I did not want to lose any of my remaining belongings to the thievery of the crew. However, it was Jacob's gift that was the best. He presented me with a sword worthy of a commodore; its blade was folded steel, and the hilt was covered in an ornate guard for my hand. It was accompanied by a beautifully worked leather sheath. When I strapped it to my waist, I found that it was a good weight, and a perfect fit to my small hand.

That was not the last surprise that my brothers had in store for me. From behind their backs, all of my brothers put my wedding chest in front of me. Tears coming from my eyes, I opened one of the chests that held my old life. It still smelled of the mint and cloves that I put between the clothes. I fell to my knees, fingering the fabrics, the slippers. "We never gave up that you would return, Matt. We kept this for you, after so long. It's yours." Jacob helped me to my feet. Tears began to form in my eyes anew as I embraced my brothers again, thanking them for the wonderful gifts that they had bestowed on me.

Jack stood by, leaning against the stone pillar of the harbour. "Well, lad, it's time to re-christen our ship." He put a hand on my shoulder, a cheeky smile on his face.

"You got it back?" I turned around, looking away from my brothers.

"Well, since your brothers here commandeered the _Pearl,_ it seemed only proper that I commandeer it back. The magistrate even allowed us to use the shipyards to fix her up. What were his words? Ah, yes: to compensate the damage done to us, on behalf of the Royal Navy. What's that for luck then, eh?"

"No way!" I looked around to try and find it, feeling like a giddy child on her birthday. Jack pointed behind me. There she was, the _Black Pearl. _She looked brand-new; even her black sails were repaired. The only gaudy decoration was the flag of the British monarch flying in the breeze. Well, that can be easily remedied. This was the perfect ship to be a pirate ship, sailing through the Caribbean.

Jack tossed an arm over my shoulder before we set sail on our new ship. After my brothers left the docks, he turned around to me. "So, Matt, we're off on another adventure, huh?"

This was the reason behind me getting the portrait done of them. "Jack. Here, my adventure ends with you."

"Wot?" Jack looked honestly hurt by my decision. "Why?"

"Cap'n, I've been offered a post on the ship, the _Swift Return,_ as their navigations officer. They got dragged in here, too, by the same ship that my brothers were on. Their captain, Adam Randolf, gave me an offer I couldn't refuse." My heart was sinking as Jack closed his eyes and looked to the horizon. "I just gotta get my stuff from the _Pearl._ They sail on the morrow's tide."

"What was their offer?" I could see the cogs working in my head as Jack was trying his best to keep me on the _Pearl._

"Five shares of the treasure, and a berth and room of my own. I'll be focusing on the courses; I'd be in charge of the helmsman, the watches, and the sails. It was the best offer that I got."

"What? You mean, you got other offers?"

"Well, my brothers put out word for me to get me out of the privateering gig, Jack. They don't want their younger brother as a pirate, see." I looked up at Jack for a moment. "Can you understand, Jack?"

This was when he surprised me. "All right, lad." He embraced me like the father that he was to me. "You take care of yourself, hear?" I managed to keep the tears off my face, but my heart was ripping in two.

It was with a heavy heart that I gathered my belongings from the _Pearl._ This place had been my home for four years, and its crew was like my family. Barbossa told the crew to let me be, but they gathered near the quarterdeck to see me off. I shook hands with them all; Perkins and Duffy were shedding open tears at the sight of me going. The last person I said good-bye to was Jack. With him, I embraced him once more. Knowing that I had to go, I let go of him and started down the street to the nearest bank to drop off my stuff.

"Hey, Matt!" I turned back to Jack. He raised his hand as if he had a mug of rum in it. "Take what you can."

I toasted him back. "Give nothing back, Jack Sparrow."


	9. The Merging of Lives

**The Merging of Lives**

With that, I walked down the cobblestones to the nearest bank. I asked that they deposit the chest and the entirety of its contents into my account, along with the contents of my treasure satchel. The head banker looked incredulous for a moment before complying. As soon as that was done, I smoothed my tricorn hat back in place and walked back to the docks. The _Swift Return _was an oaken brigantine with proper white sails. Its captain, Adam Randolf, was waiting for me at the base of the gangplank. He was a right proper black Irishman: he bore his mulatto skin proudly, his black hair tied off his face and his blue eyes shining out at me.

"Welcome aboard the _Swift Return,_ Mr. Cutting." He shook my hand as I walked up to him.

"Just Matt, Cap'n. Just Matt." He led me up the gangplank and showed me my new quarters. It was under the quarterdeck, on the same level as the captain's cabin.

Opening the door, I took in my new room. The first thing I noticed was my bed. Its oaken frame was nailed to the floor; it was no hammock, but a real bed, made with pillows and downy-filled blankets. Above my bed was a real glass window; my cabin was above the waterline, so the glass would not be broken easily.

Across the small cabin was a desk with a slanted table. There was enough room for me to map out courses and write out logs for the captain. Right above the desk was a two way speaker leading to the helm, so I could give commands from inside my room. Beside the desk, was a bookcase; it was filled with many of the volumes that I had collected my nautical information from so many years ago; I ran my fingers along the spines of the leather bound treasures, thinking 'how had he known about these'? Also, there were map-books and rutters from voyages long past. Tears filled my eyes as I unpacked some of my belongings. I made sure to place my brothers' portraits on my desk before I sat down. After I had settled in, I took a little rest on my bed, and then walked out on deck.

Randolf invited me into his cabin for drinks, to celebrate my new posting. I obliged him and met him on the quarterdeck to toast with his surgeon, Robert Watts. He took one look at me, and then took another look at Watts.

"Listen, Matt." I knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

"I already know, Cap'n. I saw the cannons below deck. You're a pirate vessel, aren't you?" They both looked shocked when I deduced it so fast.

"Yes, that's right, Matt. We also know that you have some experience as a sharpshooter." I nodded my head as I sipped the brandy. It tasted too rich for me; I was going to need to drink some rum to clear my head.

"What else did Jack tell you, Cap'n?" That must have been why Jack was curious as to where my posting was.

"Jack also told us about your history on the _New Hope_, and that you were an orphan." This time, it was Watts that spoke. He had a Highland accent to him, a hint of Scotland in his red hair and pug-like face.

"Did he also tell you that I'm a girl?" At that, their faces dropped through the floor. I was tired of concealing myself, I really was. "Jessica McFarlane, late of the _Black Pearl,_ at your service." I tipped my hat to them both, waiting for them to kick me off the ship.

"He didn't tell us that part, lass." Captain Randolf seemed to accept this far too easily. My tongue loosened by the brandy, I told them about my family life back home in Wexford, my time on the _New Hope_, some of the adventures on board the _Black Pearl_, and the reunion recently with my brothers. They looked once more at each before nodding their heads. "Well, are you still Matthew Cutting? The same Matthew Cutting that can chart a course without fail, who can climb in the ropes like a monkey, who can shoot at a target fifty yards away without missing?"

I shook my head at that. Those were all true, but the fact remained that I was still a female.

"Well then, stay that. Doesn't matter if you're a girl. Frankly, I don't care. Your reputation proceeds you, Officer Cutting." He toasted me before sipping on the brandy. "That is all that you ever need worry about." That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship...

After my little confession, I dropped the name Jessica McFarlane. That name and my former life mean nothing to me now. The only place where that name has any meaning is in the letters that I send to my brothers, which I tuck in among the bag of swag I send them every year. In my heart, I will always be Matthew Cutting, once a sailor on board the _Black Pearl, _now navigations officer of the _Swift Return_, under Captain Adam Randolf, until the day that they cast my broken body to the crushing depths of the waters...


	10. The Darkest Time: Loss of Everything

**The Darkest Time: Loss of Everything**

_Ten years later..._

"Captain!" Perkins knocked on my door. "Storm's coming on the horizon!"

"Alright, Perkins!" Before I left my cabin, I made sure that my sword was strapped firmly to my side, my guns were primed and set at my bandolier, and that my three daggers were safely in the top of my boots and the small of my back. I gathered up my dearest belongings from my chest: my collection of weapons; the pirate journals I had written; my set of navigation tools; my telescope; the portraits of my brothers, Jack, and Barbossa wrapped in burlap to protect them along with all of their letters; the various souvenirs that I had bought on my trip; some of the smaller pieces of jewellery, including my cross; my pipes and violin, and placed them in my sea-bag; I made sure to wrap the satchel of my possessions in my trusty oilskins, so that they would be protected from the treacherously changing weather. Grabbing the letter of marque, I shoved it in my pants pocket. It was strange, going from navigations officer to captain in only three years. Seven years had passed since that sea-battle in which Randolf passed away...

_"Brace the foreyard!" Bo'sun Green yelled to Perkins. We had hit a wicked storm outside of Port Royal where we were paying a little trading expedition. It kept up all the way until we had reached the waters around the Spanish port of San Juan; it was like an ominous portent. We had sold off all of our recent requisitions. Everyone was having a good time, but no paid any heed to the pending thunderstorm. Only once it was in full swing, the green water spilling over all the sides of the _Swift Return_, did anyone realize what sort of trouble we were in. _

_To add to our troubles, a French warship followed us out of the harbour; it trailed us to the outskirts of the town of San Juan, following our every move. Finally, she engaged us; her captain sent a fire-ship to trail us. Once that was sent, the warship disappeared as soon as it had appeared. The fire ship exploded against our hull, causing the _Swift Return_ to take on a lot of water due to a massive breach on her starboard side. Shrapnel flew everywhere; a particularly big piece embedded itself in Randolf's leg. I was the closest nearby; splinters had cut into my arm and face. I crawled over to him, pain riddling my arm. _

_"Matt, is that you?" Randolf was getting really shaky. Blood was gently spurting from his leg where the hull had pierced him._

_"Watts! Watts! Cap'n's been hurt real bad!" Running over with his bag, Watts called for Jackson once he saw the damage. "Take Captain to the medic bay with Matt; I'll analyze their injuries later. Tell all the men to get us into San Juan harbour with all speed. Now!" _

_"Orders, Navigations Officer?" Jackson looked for me for further instruction. I had totally forgotten at that moment that I was even an officer; with all the noise, the flying shrapnel, and the shouting, it was like being back on the _New Hope_ in my first sea battle again._

_Shaking my head, I brought myself back to the present situation. "You heard the good doctor. Set a course for San Juan with all haste. Tell O'Leary: speed fifteen knots, set course zero-one-zero-four. Go, Jackson!" I may have been the navigations officer and highest ranking officer on this ship, but Watts took control of the situation as acting captain for the moment._

_"Matt, you're going to need to contact your brothers. Tell them to meet us here for a grave matter. They'll understand." Turning on me, Watts' face was grim; blood began to dry on his cheeks._

_"What the hell, Watts? What do my brothers have to do with this?" This was too weird for words; my brothers were situated in Port Royal for the time being; that was a good five days of travelling, and that if you had a good wind to start off with._

_"Your brothers will need to change in the name on Randolf's letter of marque, to ensure that we can still be privateers in the King's service."_

_"Watts, are you sayin' that Randolf could die?" I could not imagine that happening. Randolf had been more of a father to me these past three years than my own father had ever been, just like Jack had been before him. To that, Watts said nothing; he just looked over to Jackson carrying our injured captain to the medic bay. A fleeting moment passed; my stomach filled with foreboding worry. _

_"Jesus, Matt!" Watts caught me before I collapsed on the deck. One of the bigger splinters had jammed itself into a major vein in my arm; my clothes were soaking up the blood. Another of the splinters had become lodged right above my eye, the one already scarred. He carried me into the medic bay, placing me on a cot opposite of Randolf. He was a pitying sight to behold: Watts had taken out the shrapnel and bound up his leg, but even I could see that infection was beginning to set in around it. Like Watts had said, Randolf probably would not have very long to live, maybe two weeks to a month at most. _

_The next few days were a blur. Like Watts had asked, I wrote to Jacob, John, and Joshua to come to harbour of San Juan with all haste. I thanked Watts to this day for his swiftness; because of him, I did not lose my eye. Instead, I just inherited another scar. I did not go without my fair share of pain to endure, however; I had to sit still while Watts pulled out every bloody splinter of wood from my arms and face. However, Randolf was beginning to feel the fever of the infection. All around the wound was white streaks; not even stuffing maggots in the wound would clean out the bright red flesh. Every time Watts touched it, Randolf cried out as if an inferno was just started on his leg._

_It was ten days after the attack. Jacob had received my letter and arrived with John and Joshua. Our ship was still undergoing repairs, but Randolf refused to leave his home and beloved ship._

"Captain." Watts shook his shoulders, rousing him from his painful sleep. I looked up from my vigil; since Watts had declared me fit for duty again, I had not left Randolf's side for even a minute. "Matt's brothers are here, to discuss the changing of the letter of marque." 

_"Well, bring them in." His face was growing pale and gaunt; his sweat clung to his clothes. The cut was going white and inflamed. Red streaks were starting to flare out from the wound. God knows how many times I had to give him opium to take away the pain. _

_"Jessica!" Jacob came up behind me, placing his callused hand on my bandaged shoulder. Pain began to radiate from it, but I did not cry. I turned to him, showing in shame my wrapped face and arm. I stood up and embraced him as only a sorrowful sister could hug her older brother. "How is he, poppet?" Jacob began to ask, when I began to cry into his commodore's uniform; out of pure instinct, he began to stroke my hair, trying his best to calm me down. John and Joshua gently pried me from Jacob's arms, and added their own condolences to my growing grief_

_"Stop this, Officer!" Randolf was now sitting up in his cot; pain was written on his face, but he fought through it. "I'm not dead yet!"_

_"Begging your pardon, Captain," I replied, knuckling my brow. All of my brothers looked somewhat surprised; I was never this obedient to anyone in front of them. _

_"Now then..." Watts sat me down in front of Randolf; Jacob, John, and Joshua stood behind me to show their support of Randolf's actions. "Let's get down to business."_

_"Yes, let's do this, Watts." Randolf looked at me. His eyes were starting to glass over from a fever; it was most likely a side effect of the infection. By now, it was probably spread throughout his blood, infecting more than just the injury on his leg. "Matthew Cutting, would you take command of the _Swift Return_ as her captain when I leave this world?"_

_"What?" Shock riddled my body. "I'm just a girl, Randolf. I can't be a captain of a ship!" I looked to Watts, pleading him with my eyes; he did not even deign me a look. He knew about this, and he did not see it fit to warn me that this was a possibility? I always thought that Watts would take over the ship if Randolf would die._

_"Yes, you can, and you will!" Randolf took my hand and turned it over so my palm was up. Taking his knife in his shaky hand, he slit his palm and then my own. Grasping our hands together, he spoke in an unsteady voice. "Commodore Jacob MacFarlane, Captains John and Joshua MacFarlane, do you acknowledge Matthew Cutting, once Jessica MacFarlane, as captain of the _Swift Return_ and as person to whom this letter of marque is designated to?" Our combined blood began to drip into the deck._

_As one they answered. "Yes." Jacob spoke alone, "If you will give us the letter of marque, we will change the name of it." Following Jacob's request, Randolf erratically pulled out the letter, and then collapsed in the bed. His chest stopped moving; his hands gradually stopped shaking. A small sigh escaped from his open mouth as the soul of Adam Randolf departed this world for the next one._

Trying not to cry, I gently placed my fingers on his eyes to close them. I turned over my shoulder and took the letter of marque back from Jacob, newly designated for my use. "Well, I will have to tell the crew." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Watts pull a sheet over Randolf's head, covering his death from our sights.

_"We will stand behind you, Matt." Jacob placed his callused hand back on my shoulder. Even after three years, calling me "Matt" still felt weird for him to do._

_"Wait, Matt!" Watts grabbed my good shoulder. From around Randolf's neck, he had taken off a simple rawhide necklace. On it were two keys. I recognized one of them as the key to my safety deposit box (I had entrusted it to Randolf before we set sail for the first time), but I didn't know what the other one was for. _

_"What's this, Watts?" I was confused; I had a lot to do now as captain. I simply did not have time to chat with Watts, no matter how good of a friend he was. _

_"This is the key to Randolf's safety deposit box. It holds his entire share of the treasure; he never kept any of it on board the _Swift Return_. As captain, it's yours now." Without another word, he strung it around my neck. Not knowing what to say, I just walked away to begin my duties as captain. _

_The next day, the crew assembled in front of the quarterdeck. Everyone was bedecked in their naval uniforms. Randolf's body, resting in peace, was sewn up in canvas; it laid on a plank, ready to be ceremoniously pushed over board. My brothers and I stood above Randolf's body, ready to begin his funeral at sea. _

_"Oy! Something ain't right here!" Bo'sun Green pointed at me. "Who in God's name named you captain, Cutting?'_

_"The former captain Randolf did, right before he died. Doctor Robert Watts, along with Commodore Jacob MacFarlane, Captain John MacFarlane, and Captain Joshua MacFarlane can confirm it as witnesses. Also, I have the letter of marque allowing a crew of my choosing to protect British waters and ports. Is that good enough for you, Bo'sun?" I glared at him from under my eyelids. That, and the fact that all three of my brothers, who were also very high-ranking naval officers, were standing behind me, got him to shut up._

_The ceremony itself was brief. I spoke a few words over his body, praying to the Lord to grant his servant passage to his salvation. Hats off, my four brothers, Watts, and I raised the plank to lower Randolf's body into the blue sea that was always his home. From that point on, I remained Captain of the _Swift Return_ for the next seven years..._

When I got out onto the deck, water was sloshing all over the starboard side. Gale-force winds ripped up the sails. I could see O'Leary and Jackson trying to keep the wheel still. "Officer Jackson, keep her steady!" Turning around, I could hear Bo'sun Green barking out my orders for all those who could not hear above the roar of the storm.

Thunder cracked all over the deck. The main mast, broad enough to allow five men to hug it, snapped like a toothpick in two; it came crashing down upon us. The weight of that alone broke the ship in two. Our home was being destroyed before our very eyes; I could not accept that my home was being torn away from under my feet. Time seemed to slow down as I watched the chaos and terror take hold of the crew: men were jumping off the ship to try to save their own hides. Some of my mates, Watts, O'Leary, and Padraic, lay on the deck bleeding out to their death. I sank to my knees, begging God to save all those who had served me well. I no longer cared if I lived or died. Before I passed out, I remember seeing a ship breaching the surface of the water, and then nothing.


	11. A Choice: Live in Pain, or Die in Shame

**A Choice: Live in Pain, or Die in Shame**

Something hard hit my back, waking me hit. A creature with a hammerhead shark head stood above me. "Get on your marrow-bones and pray!" Pain radiated from my back, but I obeyed him. I was frightened: this man was no man at all; he might have been a man once, but now he was transforming into a hammerhead. I looked around to the rest of my crew. Only five of my men had made it: Jackson, Bo'sun Green, and three of the riggers from down below. All the rest of my mates were dead men; only we six were to experience this.

Almost right after we were made to kneel, more of the sea creature-men came behind us. A man with the beginnings of a prickly puffer fish on his face and hands stood behind me; I felt it as he took my sword from my side, and my belongings off of my shoulder. He then pointed my own sword into my back, making me kneel straight. I refused to look scared before these men, so I kept my face stoic and calm. But inside, my stomach was retching in fear; I was never so frightened before in my life. Not even the whippings on the_ New Hope _were as bad as this.

Something came clunking from the water. I looked towards the source of the noise: it was someone walking onto my ship. However, I could not call him a man. His face was that of a sickly-looking jellyfish, countless tentacles waving around. The features of a normal face were askew; his eyes and mouth were in a normal position, but his nose was a hollowed out tentacle on the side of his face. Underneath his salt-encrusted hat, the hood of a jellyfish bellowed erratically. His right arm was totally made of a crab claw; it was covered in barnacles. His left hand was somewhat normal, if you did not count the tentacle growing from its back. One of his legs was made of rotten wood, solidified into the shape of a peg-leg. His hat and clothes were tore and sea-worn, like he had not changed them in many years. He stopped in front of me, and lit his pipe. I knew then that 'Fingers' stories were true: this had to be none other than Davy Jones himself.

"Do you fear death? Do you fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare, all your sins punished? I can offer you an escape. Join my crew; a hundred years before the mast. Will you serve?" His voice was distorted. I could detect a Scottish brogue, but it was warped by the beard of tentacles. However, it was also alluring. At that point, I did fear death: I did not want to die. I was only twenty-six; my entire life was before me!

"I will serve!" With that, he looked up at the man behind me. "Koleniko, let him go."

"Aye, Captain!" He hauled me onto my feet, and tossed my belongings at me. Looking behind me as I was kicked forward to join the _Dutchman_'s crew, I saw Jones ask the same of the remainder of my crew; I was the only one who chose service. Jackson, the bo'sun, the three riggers, all of them were killed and tossed unceremoniously overboard; there were no prayers to guide them to the afterlife. All I could do was close my eyes as I looked away.

"Get used to it, mate." The man that held me down before -Koleniko, Jones had called him- placed his stinger hand on my shoulder. "Come on, I'll get you onboard."

"Thanks." With that, I was brought onto the _Flying Dutchman_ to begin my service of one hundred years.


	12. The Moment of Truth: Their Change

**The Moment of Truth: Their Change**

It was just like back on the _New Hope_. We worked hard, ate little, and slept whenever we could. I was in charge of keeping the cannon bays clean and battle-ready. Bo'sun Jimmylegs kept the order and gave out the whippings; they were not everyday, only given out as punishment to the unlucky few. No one wanted the punishment, as the bo'sun insisted on cleaving the muscles from our bones with every lash of his whip. The one real difference between the _New Hope_ and the _Flying Dutchman_ was that I had a mate among the crew. Koleniko, one of the coxswains on the_ Flying Dutchman_, watched out for me and introduced me to other members of the crew; the only thing that he would not do for me was interfere with the bo'sun's punishment. If he did, he would also receive a whipping. Luckily, I was more experienced in ship craft then I was on the _New Hope_; punishment, for me, did not occur often.

By the time four months of my sentence had gone by, I began to transform; I was truly one of the _Flying Dutchman_'s crew now. Hadras was the one to tell me what was going on. He was morphing with crab-like features; he even had a hermit crab shell covering one side of his head for extra protection. "Once you're sworn to the _Dutchman_, you begin to become one with the ship, young Cutting." He spoke with a thick Cantonese accent, but the shell around his face gave his voice a deeper pitch. "Let me see what your transformation is." Nervously, I took off my bandana and rolled up the sleeves to my shirt; I had long discarded my jackets, my arm guards, and my tricorn hat, since I no longer had the privilege to wear them as captain. My hair had turned to brown seaweed, clinging to my shoulders. On the side of my arms, iridescent fins had begun to grow; they looked harmless enough, but they were curved with razor edges and were strong enough to do sufficient damage.

"Aye ah! Maccus!" Hadras yelled for the first mate; he happened to be lurking nearby in the shadowy corners. "Cutting's turning to a merman!" Worry and panic shook the air around us.

"What?" Maccus was the hammerhead man, but he knew how far his authority held over the ship; he was the one who taught me Liar's Dice. In a clandestine arrangement, he stole a set of dice for me to game with in whatever free time we were allowed. I kept the dice in a small leather pouch around my neck; they had to remain out of the sight of the bo'sun, or else both of us would get whipped.

"W...What's happenin' to me, Hadras?" By now, the entire crew was gathering around me and Maccus; they gawked at the unusual changes occurring in the newest crew member on board the ship. Apparently, the normal first change was an accumulation of barnacles or coral on one of the shoulders or arms, not scales or fins.

"What has provoked this gathering?" Materializing from the wood of the mast, Davy Jones glared at his crew.

"Cutting's got fins, sir!" Clanker spoke up from the back of the crew. His face was covered in barnacles and mussels, his seaweed hair dangling over his shoulders.

"Your point, Mr. Clanker?" Davy Jones did not look amused; his beard was crawling all over his shoulders, a definite sign of impending anger. This silenced the crew. "Well?" Shaking their heads, the crew walked back to their duties.

I was left alone for the remainder of the month, maintaining the triple guns and cannons for battle. We had received orders from the leader of the East India Trading Company, Lord Cutler Beckett, to be prepared to engage in one final battle off the coast of Shipwreck Cove. If Jones did not follow Beckett's orders, his heart, the source of his immortality, would be destroyed. The battle off Shipwreck Cove would decide the fate of piracy everywhere. We had two days to travel over fifty miles to reach the coast of Shipwreck Cove.

Apparently, all of the Pirate Lords had convened to decide to go to war. An unheard of thing had occurred: they had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to elect a Pirate King. Apparently, they had chosen the Pirate Lord of the South China Sea to lead them. I was torn; I was a pirate to the bone, and yet I was bound to fight on the side that was going to destroy piracy altogether.

By the time that the days before the battles had come, my arms and legs were slowly being covered with shimmering blue scales. Gills formed at the side of my neck; that would definitely come in handy when the sea-battle raged on. My now-elongated feet and hands grew webbing in between my toes and fingers. That night, as I slept amidst the cannons that I carefully maintained, I decided to choose my side.


	13. His Choice, Her Price

**His Choice: Her Price**

Gathering up what remained of my earthly belongings, I sunk myself into the wood. This allowed me to leave an imprint of myself on the ship, even though I was no longer on it. The crew will probably think that I was just integrated into the ship early. I swam through the ocean, making sure that my oilskins were still wrapping securely around what remained of my belongings. Making my way as fast as I could, I swam to the hull of the _Black Pearl,_ flagship of the pirate fleet, the rumoured prison of Calypso, and my old home.

I climbed up the ladder of the ship, and collapsed on its deck. Before I could stand up, a musket butt met my face, forcing me to go into a state of semi-unconsciousness. My eyes were closed, but I was still alert of my surroundings. I needed to go back into water. I felt my hands being tied together with rough hemp; I was dragged by my wrists to the captain's cabin. The man -or men- who knocked me out dumped me on the floor. Instinctively, I curled up in whatever safety I could muster. Someone else grabbed my shoulders, holding me up as if for inspection.

"Well now, what traitorous personage do you bring before me, masters Ragetti and Pintel? No doubt, he's a member of Davy Jones' crew." A callused hand roughly inspected my fins and gills. My chin was grabbed and thrust upwards. "Wake him up." A sudden splash of cold water sluiced over my face. I gasped, the water alerting my senses again. Before me stood Hector Barbossa, my old ship mate. I remembered that he was the Lord of the Caspian Sea, cutting a menacing figure wherever he went. He was dressed in his traditional black clothes; the feather from his decrepit hat flopped over its side. His sword was hanging by his hand, ready to grab it at a moment's notice. On his shoulder stood a cackling monkey; believe or not, he was dressed up to look like his master: a black shirt and pants.

"Parlay, Barbossa! Parlay!" I invoked my right as a pirate, holding my hands in front of my face. By saying this, I could not be harmed until I had finished stating my case. The water that one of the pirates behind me had splashed on me dripped down from my seaweed hair and clung to my kerchief. "You must follow the Code, you old git! Being one of the Pirate Lords, you cannot refuse it!'

"Show me your brand, treacherous spawn!" He took my right arm and gazed at my tattoo and brand, marking me as Matthew Cutting, pirate. "Matt?!" he dropped my hand and moved my hair from my face to get a better look at me.

I just had to smile at his incredulous face. "Good. You recognize me, you old git!" I was about to get off my knees before he backhanded me across the face.

"What's all this now, Barbossa?" A lady dressed in Chinese apparel walked towards us. She wore all black silk, golden embroidery decorating the majority of it. Around her waist was looped a wide belt to keep her tunic and pants in place. Besides keeping her clothes in place, this lady also wore a cutlass and jian at her side. Her feet were housed in shoes with slightly curled toes. Her brown-gold hair was kept on top of her head with an odd looking square hat. An English accent cut through the air.

"Your majesty, this traitor just asked for parlay. I think it wise that we get Jack for this, don't you?" His teeth were yellow as he bared them to talk to this mystery lady.

"Ragetti, get Captain Sparrow. Pintel, go with him." Her voice held a commanding air, but for all of her foreign clothes, she was definitely of British descent. As soon as the two men who held me in place let go, I crumpled to the floor again. I was scared; for once, I wanted to go back to the _Flying Dutchman_. I would not care if the bo'sun lashed me until I was a heap of meat; at least I knew what to expect there.

"What is this thing doing in my cabin, Elizabeth?" A new man walked up to me. He was bedecked in a white shirt, a loose waistcoat, and obviously worn linen trousers. His head was covered in oddly decorated dreadlocks (all sorts of items, including what looked like a piece of bone or ivory, were stuck into some of the messy braids) and a brilliant scarlet bandana; one of his dreadlocks, sporting a piece of eight, hung predominantly over his bandana. He walked with a slightly drunken swagger, as if he lived off of rum his entire life. Pulling a chair up from behind the desk, he propped up his feet and stared with a bemused look down at me. "Speak, you villainous rogue." Jack... he had not changed at all.

Pulling myself off the ground into a kneeling position, my head hanging to the ground, I began to speak. I had to make this count, because if I could not appeal to them, then I was indebted forever to Davy Jones. "My lords and lady, I am Matthew Cutting..."

"Matt!" Jack's boots hit the floor as he ran to my side. Tears were in his eyes as he recognized me beneath the scales. "Bugger, lad! What have you been up to?"

"Jack." It was the woman this time. "Let him speak." That one was obviously making judgements about me already. Was I a turncoat from Jones' ship, or was I something else?

"I was formerly a crewman of the _Black Pearl, _the _Swift Return, _and of late the _Flying Dutchman_."

"Formerly, you say?" Barbossa leaned against the desk. Jack looked rather discomfited by this. What had I been up to, that I was now joined to the master of the Locker?

"Yes, Barbossa, formerly. I come to choose my side in this fight. I will not fight on the side that intends to wipe piracy off the face of the earth."

"Well, what do you expect us to do for you?" The woman, Elizabeth, knelt before me, some of her loose locks flowing down her shoulders; placing her hand under my chin, she lifted my face. As she peered at my features with her chestnut eyes, tears fells down my face. Ashamed, I moved my face from her sight.

"I wish to be human again, your majesty." I whispered through the upcoming sobs. "I want to be a woman again, not this twisted and perverted form." Shock rang through the room; I could hear the mouths drop on my old shipmates' faces. I swallowed back the truth, but I had to continue. "I know Calypso has been imprisoned by you, and that she is housed on this ship. Please let me see her, to appeal to her to grant a boon." Silence rang through the room; their faces displayed the answer that they were so reluctant to tell me. Anger filled my soul. "Fine, then". I pressed my hand against the wood of the ship. Sinking through the wood, I slipped into the brig one deck below the cabin.

There, sitting on the lonely bench of cell, joined only by the light of a melting tallow candle, was Calypso. She was trapped in the form of a Creole voodoo woman. Her dreadlocks were greased from the musty air of the cell. The dirtied layer dress and the shawl that lay across her shoulders were crumpled. Looking down at a silver locket in her hand, her face was despondent and filled with hopelessness.

"My goddess!" I knelt before the bars of her cage. "Calypso!" When I said that, I finally got her attention.

"What do you seek, saila?" Her voice was heavy in a New Orleans drawl. She replaced the obviously prized locket around her neck.

"My goddess, I have kept your worship for all these years. Will you grant a boon for a faithful servant?" For the years during my pirate career, I would throw a piece of gold into the ocean every day as tribute to her, thanking her for allowing me to live to experience this day. I reached through the cage, reaching as far as the bars on her cage would allow me.

"Are you da one who tossed coins in my watas?" She stood up and began to examine my weeping face. Her soothing touch brushed over the scales starting to form on my face, the seaweed of my hair.

"Yes, my lady." I nodded my head fervently. "When I read about you, I could not believe that you would be trapped like this. My lady, I worshipped you for fifteen years of my life."

"Well, what is dis boon you ask of me?" She tilted my head, leaning it towards the candlelight. I reached forward to touch her clothes.

"If it is within your power, please allow me to be human again." At this time, I slumped against the cage in exhaustion; I had, after all, swum over five miles through a churning ocean.

"All right." At that moment, when her finger touched the place between my eyebrows, all three of the Pirate Lords broke into the brig.

"Tia Dalma, no!" Jack cried out to stop her. But it was too late; the transformation was begun. My insides were rolling; I found myself gasping for air. I wanted to break the connection with Calypso, but her hold was too strong. I looked down at my arms: the fins were drying up and disappearing like dust in the wind. The seaweed that was now my hair began to shrink and morph back into its original state. The scales were dropping from my skin, one by one. It was like a great fire had consumed my body.

"It... is... done!" With that, Calypso broke her hold on me; I slumped to the floor, unconscious. But I did not remain like that for long. A bucket of cold water was dumped on my limp body. I felt all of the sea life and scales that had attached themselves to me were washed away. I touched my face, my hair, and my arms: I was myself again, free of the curse of Davy Jones.

"Thank you, my lady!" I went to kiss the hem of her dress, but I felt the tip of a cutlass being gently pressed into my throat.

"That's enough from you, lad, er, lass, er... whatever you are. Savvy?" Jack Sparrow removed the cutlass tip from my throat as I backed away from Calypso.

"That's lass to you, you lazy drunk." Sitting back on my knees, I unbuttoned my vest and shirt; I pulled the strips of cotton loose, showing the three Pirate Lords my secret. I did not fully reveal myself, but they seemed to have understood the picture clear enough.

"Oh, bugger!" Jack Sparrow was shocked at the mere sight of my true form that he just stared at me with this blank-minded glance.

"Enough of this!" Elizabeth stepped forward. She thrust out her hand; weakly, I grabbed it, getting myself up off the floor. "Who are you, sailor?" She was just as perplexed as Sparrow was.

"I am Matthew Cutt..."

"No. Your real name, please."

"Fine. My true name is Jessica MacFarlane. I served under Jack and Barbossa for nearly four years before leaving to join another ship. I am also the sister of three of the naval fleet leaders that is under the control of the East India Trading Company." I stuck out my hands; the ropes had gotten loose and fell off when I had slipped through the floor of the cabin to the brig. "I assume you want to arrest me now, for insubordination?"

"No!" Elizabeth shouted at the same time that Barbossa yelled, "Yes!"

"Well? Which one is it?" I was curious now; whose commands should I follow? For the first time in over half a year, I allowed myself a little humorous grin.

Barbossa was very reluctant to bow down to Elizabeth, but her glare brought him down. "Yes, your majesty."

"Give her back her belongings, Jack." Elizabeth commanded Jack. He tossed my satchel; I had left it on the deck when Pintel and Ragetti knocked me out. I reached inside for my weapons: Davy Jones had commanded me to strip them off when I first boarded the _Flying Dutchman_. First of all, I tightened the straps around my chest, but deigned not to redo all the buttons of the shirt. I replaced my Celtic cross around my neck, dangling over my chest and bindings; the leather of my arm guards itched when I slid them back on for the first time in five months. I tied my hair off my face with one my leather throngs, making sure to re-tie the bandana that had slipped off during my metamorphosis. My knives, I placed back in the my belt, the top of my boots, and in the small of my back; I strapped my sword back onto my belt, my final present from Jacob. I wrapped my bandolier around me again, feeling the comfort of my two blunderbusses and the weight of the extra powder and shots again. Finally, I reassembled and cocked my sharpshooting rifle, making sure that it carried enough powder. Swinging it over my shoulder by its strap, I looked every inch a pirate, the pirate that I had always wanted to be.

Needless to say, all three of the Pirate Lords were perplexed by this absurd amount of weaponry. All three of them wore incredulous looks of shock; did they honestly think that I went around unarmed just because I was a girl? "Well, what are we waiting for?" I ran up the deck and was in the sails by the time that all three of them were even on deck. Before running up to find a decent spot, I hid the rest of my belongings and the satchel in the captain's quarters, making sure to lock the door before hitting the ropes at top speed.


	14. The Final Battle: A Decision of Choice

**The Final Battle: A Decision of Choice**

Over the next few hours, parlay was called. Elizabeth, Jack, and Barbossa went on a piece of neutral ground with the leaders of the enemy: Lord Cutler Beckett, Davy Jones, and Will Turner. From what I could see, a trade was ensued: Will in exchange for Jack. Jack did not look very comfortable having to stand beside Davy Jones; it looked like Jones thought that Sparrow had a debt to settle between the two of them. Will was a handsome kind of man. He wore a set of loose trousers, a loose claret red long sleeved shirt, and a loose waistcoat like the one Jack wore. Around his neck was a shell pendant hung on cord. His mid-shoulder brown curls were tied back into a ponytail. He displayed his bearded chin and moustache with dignity. Around his waist hung a scarf and belt, along with a cutlass and pistol. Apparently, he was Elizabeth's fiancé by the way that she looked at him and him at her.

I kept a watchful eye from the ropes on the unfolding events below. Once Barbossa was back on board, a multitude of pirates cautiously pulled Calypso from her cell; cautiously, because they tied her from her shoulders to her knees so that they could control her. Will tried to protest, but he was held back by Sparrow's old crewmen; I like his voice, as it was like an older vintage of wine to the ear, smooth and yet gruff to the ear. Barbossa tossed a piece of eight and a jade pendant into a hat containing other miscellaneous items; reaching behind him, he grabbed for a lit fuse and placed it in the hat. He spoke some incantation, but nothing happened. From the crowd, amidst barely audible chuckles, Ragetti came out from the crowd; under the incredulous look of Barbossa, he tenderly whispered something into Calypso's ear.

She went into a fit of convulsions when she breathed in the smoke from the hat. Will tried to talk to her, but she began to grow in height and size. She grew so much, that the planks around her feet began to crack. The mast, with me in it, began to sway to one side, threatening to collapse. Barbossa yelled up to the giant Calypso, trying to reason with her, to try to get her to attack the armada. She went into a second set of convulsions, only this time, she dissolved into rock crabs into the sea.

Minutes passed, but Calypso did nothing; there was no supernatural omen that she was still fighting on our side in this struggle. Barbossa suggested that we turned the pirate fleet around. Elizabeth then ran up on the portside railing and yelled at the crew, trying to convince them to fight in this. I could only catch snippets of her speech, like, "strength of our backs", "ringing of our swords", "courage in our hearts". That in itself was enough initiative for me to fight for this cause. Then Elizabeth, Pirate King, gave the order to hoist the colors. Every ship in the pirate fleet raised its flag, the sign that they were ready to fight for their honour as pirates.

The skies began to grow dark. The_ Black Pearl_ and the_ Flying Dutchman _began to sail to the sea separating the fleet and the armada. Calypso's rage at both her prolonged captivity in a single form and at the men who took pride in masquerading as her masters began to show. I could almost feel the tension radiating from her as the rain began to pour. The seas separating the two fleets began to slowly turn into a maelstrom, a never-ending whirlpool strong enough to suck in the two ships. Elizabeth yelled for Barbossa to take the helm; he steered the _Black Pearl_ in a circle trying to both stay away and catch up to the _Flying Dutchman_. Both of them, the _Black Pearl_ and the _Flying Dutchman_, began the battle of the final showdown for the fate of piracy.

An incessant rain began to pour down upon the crews of both ships. I lost count of how many bodies I killed. It pained me only a little when I had to slaughter some of my mates from the _Flying Dutchman_; they did not even recognize me without my scales. On the main deck, below where I was battling in the sails, I saw Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann go through an impromptu marriage ceremony under the eye and preaching of Captain Barbossa, while all three of them were trying to fight off the crewmen of the _Flying Dutchman_ around them. Somehow, Jack freed himself from the _Flying Dutchman_'s brig and was fighting on the main mast and in the riggings with Davy Jones; in one hand, Jack held the chest which held the heart of Jones, the source of all of his power. It was absolute mayhem on both ships; battle fury was staining the air.

I realized halfway through the battle that the real fight was occurring not on the _Black Pearl_, but on the _Flying Dutchman_. Since so many of the rigging lines from both ships had become entangled with one another, it was easy to swing across the narrowing gap. As soon as I stepped foot on the stern of the starboard side, bo'sun Jimmylegs was the first one to fall under my blade; like the captain of the _New Hope_, his whip would never again crack on my back.

On the portside of the ship, Jack threatened to destroy the heart of Davy Jones with a broken blade. On the ground was Will and Elizabeth; Davy Jones was over them, poised to take Will's life. Being the cruel man that he was, Jones stabbed the heart of Will, forcing Jack to make a choice: to still stab the heart to become the immortal captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, and watch one of his friends die before his eyes, or give Will the heart to stab, saving his friend's life but dooming him to a lifetime away from his love. Elizabeth started to cry over Will, begging with him to stay alive.

I watched from the starboard railing, my rifle slung over my shoulder once more. I willed myself to remain hidden, but I could not. I raced across the berth of the ship to face Jones. I readied to punch Jones in his tentacle-covered face, but another _Dutchman_ crew member beat me to the punch. Bootstrap had gone crazy from captivity, and he was imprisoned in a solitary cell for his own good while I served on board; he must have escaped from his cell somehow. He took Jones on himself, trying to fight against his own captain.

Suddenly, Jones stopped moving. I scurried up the rigging for a better view. Jack had taken Will's hand, placed the broken sword in his failing grip, and stabbed Jones' heart through to the deck. He chose to save Will's life and give up the captaincy of the _Dutchman_. Elizabeth began to wail over Will's dying form. Jones whispered something before he fell over the side of his beloved ship. The surviving members of the _Dutchman_'s crew grew out from the wood; they congregated together around Bootstrap and Will.

I took this time to get off the ship and back onto the _Black Pearl._ I looked back only once: Bootstrap took out a coral encrusted dagger and cut out Will's still beating heart. Koleniko and Maccus placed it in the chest which had previously held Jones' source of power; that was all that I saw until the _Flying Dutchman_ sank into the waters beneath the maelstrom. The force of the ship sinking forced me to swing with the rigging into the water farthest from the dissipating maelstrom. After that, I swam towards the _Black Pearl_. Jack and Elizabeth were parasailing in the now quiet breeze over the now calm waters; you would never have suspected that a raging maelstrom had once wrecked havoc there.

I grabbed a hold of the ladders on the port side of the _Black Pearl _and began to climb up onto the deck; I was soaked from head to toe, and the entire collection of cutlass nicks I had sustained began to bleed anew. While I was fighting Jimmylegs, his cutlass cut a teardrop onto the top of my hand: he cut open several veins and broke one of the bones; the injury continued to bleed as the first mate, Gibbs, wrapped it up. The crew was all for abandoning our present course now that the _Endeavour_, the flagship of Beckett's armada, was on a warpath to intercept with us. Jack did not listen with them; I knew something was up, so I headed down to the cannon bays. The sailors there were just standing around, waiting for something to happen.

I immediately took control of this bunch of rag-tag sailors. "Don't just stand there! Ready the cannons for firing!"

One sailor decided to be incredibly dense over being commanded by a woman. "All of them, miss?" This earned him chuckles from the mates around him. I had enough of him before he even began to talk. I had just swam against the current of a maelstrom, fought countless Marines and old crewmen, and watched a fellow pirate get sent to the bottom of the drink. I walked over there, pulling the daggers from the small of my back and from my belt, and held him against the keel. One blade was against his throat; the another one nestled nicely in the middle of his gullet, pointed right towards the center of his navel.

"Are you going to load these cannons, or am I going to have to show you why my name's Cutting, mate?" I made my voice goes low and threatening; I could see the sweat just pouring from his brow. "Load them up, sailor." With a final little emphasis on the blade sitting at his throat, I let him loose; he certainly ran away to do my bidding. Turing behind me to load the nearest cannon, I saw Barbossa standing on the stairs watching me work; he nodded his approval before heading back on the quarterdeck. It was not every day that one of the Pirate Lords, not to mention your ornery old shipmate, gives you his approval, let alone one of the more nefarious ones at that.

By the time all of our cannons were loaded and primed for fighting, I headed back up on deck to watch the impending action; Barbossa was at the helm once more, steering us all towards the _Endeavour_. Jack stood at the stern, just waiting for us to broadside. The crew was murmuring amongst themselves: was Jack losing his mind? Why were we heading straight for the enemy? However, I had to believe in the _Pearl'_s able captain, unless he was completely drunk again, and in that case, we were doomed.

Suddenly, out of the blue waters, the _Flying Dutchman_ cracked the surface of the waters. This was impossible; the _Dutchman_ could only sail with a captain, and its captain was dead. I leaned over the railing, suspicion furrowing my brow. I knew it as soon as I saw it: the _Dutchman_ had a new captain, Will Turner. He looked over to us, or more specifically, to Elizabeth; their eyes alone radiated the intense love that these two shared, especially now that they were married.

Both the _Pearl _and the _Dutchman _headed towards the _Endeavour_, Beckett's flagship. I could just imagine the look of Lord Beckett's face as the face of his fleet and the one ship that could defeat him cut through the water together, aimed at him. Barbossa looked at me from the helm; I stood just before the top of the quarterdeck. I felt his eyes bore into the back of my head.

"Master Cutting," Barbossa caught my attention. Turning around, I stared straight into the bleak eyes of my old mate. "I place you in charge of the cannonade when it comes." That was all he said before he turned his eyes back to his watchful post.

Knuckling my brow, I went down to the cannon bays with the speed of the ship herself. The self-same sailor who had challenged me earlier went to hiding in a corner when he saw me come down the stairs. "Alright, men. Get all the cannons on the starboard side ready for firing. Make sure that they all have enough supplies for five reloads a piece. Do it now!" Everyone scurried from their statuesque poses when I barked that last order at them. I ran down to the lower decks and repeated my orders to the other sailors. The cannon doors were lifted, the cannons secured with rope. If this was to be the end of piracy, then we would leave this earth with a display of artillery worthy enough to be written in the pages of history.

From above came more hands to man the cannons, among them experienced pirates with over ten years of pirating under their belts. We, including myself, were all veterans of our trades, many of us having some past training in the British navy; we communicated with only stares and nods. Once all was prepared as much as it could be prepared for in advance, we manned our positions. We were all waiting in earnest for the call to fire, the call to make the final decision on the outcome of this final battle for our lives and livelihoods.

In the end, it was Barbossa to sound the signal, following the call of Captain Will Turner. He was followed seconds after by Elizabeth. All hands below fired the cannons; it was like a thunderstorm of gunpowder and steel. Each cannonball hit its mark on the _Endeavour_, injuring it further down its keel line. Once it was fired, the veterans reloaded the cannons in less than ten seconds a piece. In all of this, the _Flying Dutchman_ fired upon the other side of Beckett's flagship. For all that the _Endeavour_ was a ship of over 100 guns, not one of them, not a single one of them, was fired in retaliation. Once both ships had passed the _Endeavour_, it exploded from the resulting fires in the powder magazine. No one survived its wrath; I prayed that none of my brothers were on that ship as it sunk to the crushing depths of the ocean.


	15. Her Choice, Their Price

**Her Choice, Their Price**

The battle was over, and the pirates had won. I was finally free. There was no more Davy Jones to haunt me, no more Cutler Beckett to threaten my livelihood or me anymore.

Jack came up behind me, patting my shoulder and looking off to the _Flying Dutchman_ on the horizon. "Well, Matt, or is it Jessica now?"

Grinning, I showed him my tattoo. "It's always 'Matt', Cap'n." I embraced him once more, revelling in the rum-soaked breath. "Is it too late for me to rejoin the _Pearl_'s crew, Jack?"

Just then, Barbossa came behind us both, his leer back on his face. "So, Cutting, you two-faced bastard!" He punched me right in the nose; I heard the crack and winced. I just pushed the bone back into place and rubbed it.

"Hard feelings, Barbossa?" He got ready to deck me once again, but Gibbs grabbed his arm and restrained him.

"God, you're all gits!" Jack stood aback from us both and watched as I reared my fist to break Barbossa's face. "Now, now, Matt." He wrapped his hand around my own. "You've gotten gutsy, bucko. Ten years ago, you would've run from a blow."

I reached down to Gibbs' belt and stole the rum flask. I drank it all before he even noticed it was gone. Tossing it back to him, I looked under my lids at Jack.

"Well, when you've been Jimmylegs' whipping boy for five months, you get a spine quick like, Jacky." I knew he hated that nickname, but I said it anyway.

"Well, what now, traitor?" Barbossa glared down at me.

"What, hard feelings, Barbossa?" I looked up at him with my head to one side. "I've heard tales of your adventures in Isla de Muerte, mate. Oh, I remember, it went all pear-shaped, didn't it?"

"Enough!" Jack threw up his hands. "She stays!" He yelled that out to the entire crew, pointing at me. "But first, we go to Tortuga for some more supplies!" That got a cheer from the crowd.

I moved away from them all, but saw Elizabeth Swann Turner, acclaimed Pirate King, looking over to the _Flying Dutchman. _I knew that she longed to be in her beloved William's arms, but that she thought that this was simply not possible.

"You know, you can see him today." She stared at me with frank disbelief as I came up from behind her. Not allowing her to speak, I continued. "I know that you will wait for ten years, ten long years to hold him in your arms again. I know that you will bear his child if only you had the chance. Take that chance today, Elizabeth." It was awkward for me to address the king of the Pirate Lords on an equal footing, even if she had only been a pirate for four years.

"You're trying to ask me something, aren't you?" Her brown eyes stared at me. They still held disbelief, as if she could still not believe that she had the rest of her day to consummate her impromptu marriage with her lifelong love.

"No. Simply that the longboat is being prepared for you, anyway." I turned to her and grabbed her forearm. "Just know, Elizabeth Turner, that once you're settled, to expect a visit from me." A small smile was tucked into the corner of her mouth as Elizabeth stared back out at sea. Just then, Gibbs came up to us both and bowed to Elizabeth. "Your chariot awaits you, your Highness." When he got no immediate response, he began to shuffle his feet and continued with, "The oars are inside."

All the crew of the _Black Pearl, _or at least what was left of it from the battle, gathered on the quarterdeck to bid their farewells to her. Even Jack and Barbossa had something to say, but I stayed where I was. I was so sick of farewells, and Elizabeth already had my condolences.

When she had set off, Jack, Barbossa, and I stood near the helm. My face was beginning to swell, but that was nothing for me. Jack turned to us both and asked, "Tortuga?"

I replied with, "Tortuga." Grabbing the helm from both pirates, I made ready to steer us in the right direction for our victory celebration.

At Barbossa's orders, the crew stepped to and heaved the sails. Whoever this new crew was, it was very efficient. Barbossa took up the wheel when I followed Jack down to his cabin.

Closing the door behind us, I looked at Jack. Once again, tears were coming to his eyes. "Oh, Matt!" He embraced me once more. Pouring us both a measure of rum, he sat me down at his desk and he motioned for me to tell him what had happened to him.

It was time that I told him the truth. Taking a sip of the rum for strength, I began at the very beginning. "Well, it all started because I refused to be married to the man my father had chosen for me, actually. I had always loved the sea, and had found in it a way to my freedom." Those shared words between the two of us began my tale.

With that cup of rum in my hand and the motion of the sea beneath us, we shared our stories. I continued to tell him my story, mainly the terror that I came upon on the _New Hope_. I skipped to the trials, and when I transferred over to the _Swift Return. _For the second time, like with my brothers, I stripped off my tunic and showed Jack the scars that bore truth to my telling. He was in awe of my back, but then, every pirate had scars; I just had more than most. Once I started again, at my rather informal introduction into the crew of the _Swift Return,_ Jack laughed as he remembered his telling Adam Randolf everything he knew about me at the time.

Once that leg of the story was over, it then got bleak: times were hard on the _Swift Return_ when word got out we were privateers. We had to leave the Caribbean for a sprint when pickings were lean. Randolf had decided to take us to the Orient: China and Japan. It was perfect for me to procure more silk and jade for my collection: this time, there was enough to make full kimonos out of. It was also perfect to expand my ever-growing collection of jewellery and cosmetics. I even got to wear and buy a couple of them, all with my own purse. I even added a fan to my magpie's nest of souvenirs. One of the local sword smiths commissioned a sword for me to buy. It was not like the cutlass that I was used to: it was a curved blade, used to behead men more than to fight in battles for it. He slid it into the polished leather scabbard before wrapping it in silk for me to handle it.

However, the local authorities did not really enjoy the British who lived in these areas. I was, shall we say, abducted from a local market stall. I was brought before the local gang-lord. That was not a fun experience between the beatings; his favourite torture was to tie my arms around a yoke and lower me into water. There, he would keep me under until I was close to drowning. Needless to say, I got good at holding my breath. I received no food or water for four days. However, Randolf found out where I was and bargained for my release. It turned out that I forgot to pay for something in his sister's store; they were trying to get me to pay up, but I could not understand Chinese even if it was worth my life. So Randolf paid the man, and we scurried out of Chinese waters as fast as we could.

Jack looked at me and told me that he understood completely. He had also enjoyed the hospitality of Sao Feng, the former Pirate Lord of Singapore. I never asked for the specifics, and he never told me.

After that, we winded down and around to Morocco. There we managed to trade off all of our goods from the Orient in return for food and riches beyond our imagining. It was here that I first smoked in the hashish dens. The marketplaces were filled with treasures that I bought with my share of the spoils from the trading. My hands were hennaed; they still bore the marks, however faint, after seven years. It was a pause in time, a little slice of paradise.

It was hard for me to relate the death of Randolf and my ascension into the captaincy on board; you could not describe the depth of emotion on that ship unless you had the honour of working under Randolf. After the death of our captain, we were struck by misfortune: we were challenged again on the legitimacy of my letter of marque. Even if the records stated that this was now my commission, it still had to be authorized by the High Courts.

Jack looked at me in a stupor when I came to the end of relaying my indoctrination into Jones' crew. The rest was known history between us. "Well, Jack." I got up to pour us another class of rum each. "What's your sob story from when I left?"

Clearing his throat, he got to it. Needless to say, his was a lot better than mine was. Only a few months after I left the crew, Barbossa mutinied with all of the crew, leaving Jack marooned on a godforsaken spit of land. He wouldn't tell me the specifics of his escape, but only that he used sea turtles.

He borrowed a ship and headed to Port Royal. There, he was arrested and sent in prison. He met up with Will Turner, the same one who now captained the _Flying Dutchman_, and used him to help him get back the Black Pearl and fight Barbossa on Isla de Muerte, home to the stash of the _Pearl_'s treasure. Needless to say, he shot Barbossa for mutinying against him, only to get arrested by the Royal Navy.

Brought back to Port Royal, he was so close to dancing the hempen jig when Will Turner, newly forgiven by the Port's governor, freed him. He got the _Pearl _back, and all was well.

The Navy tried to catch him, but a lucky hurricane off Tripoli destroyed their ships. Jack snuck into a prison for a clue to a new treasure, only to be reminded of his debt to Davy Jones with the Black Spot on his hand. He told me that the clue that he found would lead him to the heart of Davy Jones, and his plan was to find the heart and get Jones to release him from the debt, or stab the heart and get captaincy of the _Flying Dutchman._ He got to the closest land, being Cannibal Island. After narrowly avoiding getting eaten, he, Will, and his crew made their way to Tia Dalma's hut, who I now knew as Calypso. She, in return for payment, gave him a jar of dirt and the location to the _Flying Dutchman_.

Will, by decree of the captain, went over to the _Flying Dutchman, _and that made Jones renege on the terms of the agreement. If Jack found one hundred souls in three days, then Jones would free him. If not, he would become Kraken food.

That's the one thing I didn't miss about the _Flying Dutchman._ Jones' pet monster, the Kraken, would come after those who renege on his deals. Jack made a deal with the devil, indeed.

My attention drawn back to Jack, he told me how he, Elizabeth Swann, and the then-former commodore Norrington to Isla Cruces to find the heart of Jones and force him to give up on the deal. Well, all was going well until Will Turner showed up, wanting to stab the heart to save his father, Bootstraps Turner.

"Wait, wait! _Bootstraps_ is Will's _father_?!" That member of Jones' crew was long gone insane. For the months during her indentured service to the _Dutchman_, Bootstraps had been locked in the brig, kept muttering "part of the crew, part of the ship," whenever she would come down to visit the brigs to clean them.

"So it would seem, luv." He swigged back more rum, his kohled eyes going deadly serious. The three of them, Jack, Will, and Norrington fought over who would get the chest and the heart; it turned out that Norrington was working for Beckett in return for his life.

He got the chest in the end, sticking the heart in the jar of dirt that Calypso had given him. However, when they got back to the _Pearl,_ the heart was gone. The crew fought against the Kraken and won temporarily. They abandoned ship, but Elizabeth chained him to the main mast. Her logic was that the Kraken was only after him and not them. She was a pirate, after all.

We were both silent for a moment, both of us drunker than skunks from the now two-bottles a piece that we had drunk. The motions of the sea underneath us were making me sleepy. But Jack was almost done.

Abridged the story greatly, he was taken down to the Locker, but escaped when Barbossa, Will, Elizabeth, the crew of the _Pearl,_ and some Singapore mercenaries actually came and got him.

Well, four of them had tried to kill him in the past, and the happily married murderess had succeeded. There was no way in the Locker itself that he would willingly sail with any of them. But he had no choice.

That night, they came across the un-ferried dead, the ones that Jones declined not to escort to the other side. Elizabeth saw her father, dead by the hands of Beckett, and he found out that when he killed Jones, he would need to replace his heart with it. In the end, he would become the immortal Captain Jack Sparrow. That seemed to be the plan, and a good one at that.

They escaped from the Locker and returned to the land of the normal. While he and Barbossa went to restock their water supply, the 'whelp' (I can only think that he was referring to Capt. Turner) threw a mutiny on them, giving him over to Sao Feng who then gave him over to Beckett, and then took Will prisoner. All in all, everything had gone to pot and then I came in after the meeting with the Pirate Lords, but I wasn't allowed to know what happened seeing as I wasn't there.

I laughed before refilling our glasses a third time. "So Jack, how's your father?"

Jack's face blanched when I spoke. "He's dead, Matty."

Wagging my finger at him, I scolded him. "That be a lie, Sparra. I saw Capt. Teague Sparrow during the Battle of Shipwreck Cove, and I know you two be related. Now, spill." I was beginning to sound like him now; I really needed to stop drinking for the time being.

It took me threatening to light up his rum stash before I got my answer: his father was fine and old, and his mother was now a shrunken head on his father's belt.

There was a knock at the door. Barbossa tucked his head in, eating one of his trademark apples. "Cap'n, we're a day from Tortuga."

"Ah, excellent." Knowing now that Jack was going to drink some more, I headed out with Barbossa. We both walked up to the helm, where he dismissed Cotton and took over for himself.

"You know I'm not going to stick around after Tortuga, Barbossa." This was not a question, simply a statement. "This," I raised my arms and motioned to the _Pearl_, "this was another life for me, one that's done."

"So, what d'you intend on doing, Master Cutting?" My face seemed to stop swelling, just as my nose had stopped throbbing.

"Well, I got me own plans." I smiled at him. "Don't worry 'bout me, Barbossa. You just worry about how you're gonna mutiny against Jack again."

He looked shocked. "Why, whatever do you mean by that?"

I just shook my head. "Whatever the plan, count me out of it. Just compensation would be for you to point me in the direction of a reliable ship-dealer in Tortuga."

"What kind of ship d'you have in mind, Matt?" Barbossa leaned against the railing, his monkey coming over and landing on his shoulder. Absentmindedly, I petted the monkey and let him hang from my arm and sit on my shoulder.

"A Bermuda sloop, something for me to sail on me own." I shared with him the swiped bottle of rum from Jack's cabin.

"Well, I know just the man." He smiled and swigged.

True to his word, Barbossa got us to Tortuga where we immediately lost Jack to the whores and the pubs. I followed Barbossa to a man who sold the ship I needed and we negotiated out a fair price.

I headed down to the bank, pilfering a wagon and horse on the way. Once I came to the teller and told him to empty the vaults of both Matthew Cutting and Adam Randolf, he looked somewhat perturbed but followed my commands. I spent the rest of the afternoon buying supplies for my trip, furnishing my boat with rations, rum, rope, blankets, a lantern, five additional rifles, gunpowder, bullets, a anchor, and a flag of my own: a compass rose and cutlass of deep blue material on a black background. I was ready by nightfall to sail on the _Revenge_, as I had named her.

I started island hopping until I found what I had been looking for: an island with a cave along the beach; technically I had to moor my ship off the side of the cave and climb up maybe four feet to get up my new home. I wanted no more to live in a proper home than for Jack to give up his rum, so I made myself a temporary home here. For it was here, on a small island off Shipwreck Cove, that the mother lode of treasures was waiting to be taken by capable swimmers like me.

The first thing I did was to build a small post outside of my cave to tie my boat to. I furnished my cave with the blankets and lanterns, making sure to make a bed for myself near the back of the cave. In the middle, I set up a fire pit, moving some of the rock out of the way to make a shallow indent in the floor. Placing my guns near the entrance of the cave, I was protected.

For the next year, I lived in solitude. My cave was high and dry, so I just had to worry about making sure that no one bothered me. Not that I had many guests: not many tried to make friends with the Shipwreck hermit, as I became called as. I fed myself from the sea: lobster, crab, fish, and seaweed. For one year, I dove into the shallows around my island and came up with sunken treasures that people thought were forgotten. Even if Calypso had removed the curse of Davy Jones from me, I could swear that I had gills when I swam. The depths didn't bother me, neither did the times that I deprived myself of oxygen.

I guess another reason that I chose this island, this particular cave, was so I could watch over my new charge. I told her I would visit her within a year's time, and to this date, I have never reneged on any of my promises. I watched her pace the beaches, and I watched her swell with the new life within her. It was going to be a long ten years waiting for her husband to return, and I needed to be sure that I could help her in every way that I could.

That year passed quickly, but the seas take my soul if it wasn't lonely. It was especially long, knowing that I could have gone to see her whenever I wanted to. But I waited my time, collected my swag. My cave was filled so that I barely had enough room left to sleep and cook my meals. But the time had finally come.

I climbed out of my cave and walked the beach line until it rose to a natural stone pathway. Following that, I came upon her house. Being a two-floor house, it looked big enough to comfortably house my entire family, let alone one women and her newborn child. The outside was made of strong oak planks with mahogany trim. There was a veranda on the first floor, with a widow's walk around the second floor. Glass windows were situated aesthetically around so that there were large square windows on the lower floor, smaller square windows on the top floor, and a circular window in the door leading to the widow's walk.

Gathering up my courage, I knocked on the door to the house. It barely took her a minute to open the door. Her face had softened with her pregnancy, but her belly was back to its normal size. In her arms was a child; I could easily see the chin, eyes, and nose of Capt. William Turner in the babe, but the mouth and the face was that of his mother.

"May I help you?" I had forgotten that I had changed as well over the year. My face had grown gaunt, my hair full of salt and wind-swept from my face. My clothes were well worn, but they now bore holes from the constant wear. My tricorn hat obscured most of my face from view, so I removed it before answering her.

"Did I not tell you that I would come to you once you've settled? I lifted the sleeve of my shirt and showed her my tattoo, my brand. She still looked confused, so I laughed. "Come now, Pirate King. Surely you remember the traitorous whelp that changed sides the night before the battle?" That jogged her memory.

"Matt?" She shook her head, trying to remember my other name for a moment. "Jess?"

"Hole in one, luv." I smiled before she took me into a one-armed embrace. "And I take it that this is young William Jr.?" I tickled the chin of the babe gently as to not wake him.

"Actually, William Turner the Third." She sounded so proud of that name, the continuation of a legacy. "Come inside?"

"Of course." Taking care to remove my boots before coming into the beautiful house, I looked around at the modest decorations: such a womanly touch. She showed me to the sitting room; she even poured me tea after putting the babe to bed. She looked at me and grinned. "So, Jess. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, this and that." I put my hand in my pocket and withdrew a small gold coin, one of the countless thousands that I had collected. "Mostly treasure hunting."

"Where about?" She honestly had no clue, did she? I placed the coin on the table in between us.

"Elizabeth Swann Turner, surely you know that you're not even five leagues away from Shipwreck Cove? How do you think it earned its name?" I looked at the coin before turning a bemused grin towards her. "I live in the cave about a half mile away from your home here."

At that, we both laughed for a moment before going quiet again. This is when talking got difficult. "I know that it will be hard raising a child and keeping a house run properly by yourself... so I was wondering if I could live with you, as sort of like a housekeeper. You don't have to give me a stipend or anything like that; I have enough swag saved up from my years at sea. I would just like a place to call home, if you know what I mean..." I was sure by now that she would say no to all of my ranting ideas, but I had to ask before seeking out other options.

I lowered my head to gaze at the richly carpeted floor, knowing that what I had just spouted out sounded so stupid, but I had no other way to say it. A callused hand gripped my shoulder; without a word, she lifted my head and nodded. I was to have a home and a job after all.

That day, I began to move all of my stuff into a small room that Elizabeth had given me in return for my future services. That took the rest of the afternoon and a good chunk of the evening as well. I was lathered in sweat by the time that the last chest of treasure was hauled up. Elizabeth had made some calls in Shipwreck Town, just down the hill from her house, for some help, but I had refused it.

It was just after twilight had come over the horizon when I was finished. Elizabeth called me back into the sitting room. I didn't want to sit on the chairs and dirty them up, so I wandered around the room. It was there that I finally saw it on the book shelf: the chest that had once contained Davy Jones' still-beating heart, a sign of his captaincy on board the Flying Dutchman; now it contained the heart of Will Turner. As Elizabeth came into the room, I could just make out a chain with the key hanging around her neck.

She came upon me quietly and placed her hand over my shoulder as I moved closer to inspect the chest. At this single motion, he collapsed into my sore shoulder in sadness; tears ran anew for her husband, newly made and yet lost to her for the next nine years. I awkwardly patted her head; I had no idea how to comfort a female after fifteen years at sea amongst ribald males and their black humour.

"Jessica, how did you become a pirate?" Elizabeth sat in the same chair as before, pouring herself another glass of tea. As she turned on the lantern, I saw that she was so beautiful, such a perfect image of what society wanted us woman-folk to look like. I probably would have looked like that if I did not become a pirate. I chuckled when she asked that; it sounded so naïve, like she expected me to be a captured damsel.

Since she now held my contract, I told her the same tale that I had told Jack. I made no room for her female sensitivities, but it wasn't like I was living in a den of sin half my life. Technically, I was, but I had no complaints about my treatment.

"Have you ever loved, Jessica?" Elizabeth asked me when I had stopped to sip another jigger of rum to loosen my tongue.

"No, Elizabeth. My love is the sea; I've spent over fifteen years of my life on its rolling waves. I need no human lover to feel whole." For a while, we both just stared at the dying embers on the far wall. "Well now, my story is finished. I do believe it is time for you to share your tale, Elizabeth."

My turn to listen, she began to relate her own tale; however, I kept it in mind that this was the woman who doomed Jack to the Kraken, who was just as easily a murderess as I was. I learned that she had loved Will since they had first met, when they were about ten years old. When she was twenty, she had the pleasure of spending time on board the _Black Pearl_ under the less-than-pleasurable hospitality of Captain Barbossa. This was two years ago, a year before my indoctrination into the _Flying Dutchman._ When I questioned her further, she revealed that when Will and her had first met, he had a medallion of Aztec gold with a skull on it; fearing that he was a pirate, she stole it from him, hiding it away for all those years. Now Barbossa had come looking for it, to end a curse that bewitched his crew into immortality at the loss of their senses. After an arduous time, including the emergence of Jack Sparrow, a sea-battle, Will being captured, various blood sacrifices, the death of Barbossa, a hanging gone awry, and Sparrow's escape from the authorities of Port Royal, she and Will were betrothed to be married.

However, it was not to be. Four mouths after that adventure, she and Will were arrested for aiding the escape of Jack Sparrow. None other than Lord Beckett himself set this plan forth. Will was allowed freedom to go find Jack and barter for his compass. Her father, Governor Swann, refused to allow his daughter to remain in jail on what should have been her wedding week, released her and led her to the harbour. There, she fooled both the authorities and her father and slipped onto a trading ship, signing on as a boy. Once on, she tracked Jack to Tortuga. There, Elizabeth found out the reason that Beckett was after the compass: he wanted the heart of Davy Jones.

Well, Jack and Elizabeth, along with the crew of the _Black Pearl_, sped to Isla Cruces, where, believe it or not, Will, Jack, and another man fought over what should be done with the heart. By the end of the battle, Jones' crew had gotten involved; it got incredibly complicated with almost nothing accomplished, because in the end, Beckett got the heart. Once they were back on the ship, the Kraken, Jones' pet, attacked the ship; it appeared as though Jack had contracted the Black Spot, and it was time for Jones to collect what was owed. Everyone but Jack escaped off the ship, since Elizabeth chained him to the mast. Once she was off the ship, the Kraken settled Jack's debt.

At that, I was almost ready to throttle her. She was the one to sacrifice Jack to the Kraken, the one that sent my home under the depths. She was bloody useless as a pirate; how in the name of the seven seas did she get named our King?! Maybe this might not have been a good idea. But her story was not finished yet; I would not make the same judgements that she had made about me when she first saw me.

The three of them travelled up river to Tia Dalma's shack. There, she told them that all hope was not lost, that both the Pearl and Jack could be saved from Davy Jones' locker. However, they would need a captain who knew the way. Lo and behold, she had used her power to bring Barbossa back from the dead.

She paused. "You must understand, Jessica. I saw Barbossa killed by Jack. He used a bullet that he received when Barbossa marooned him eight years beforehand in the first place. I hear him speak his last words, and collapsed on the treasure of Isla de Muerte. He should not have been alive again, but he was."

I just had to ask. "Elizabeth, do you remember the crew members that you fought on Isla Cruces? The ones from Davy Jones' crew?"

"I remember what some of them look like, if that is what you mean." She looks confused.

"Can you tell the descriptions of the ones that you remember?" I wanted to know who among my old crewmates fought on that day, just out of curiosity.

"Well, there was a man with kelp and mussels in his hair. He had a grape shot with him that he used as his weapon." That would be Clanker. He and I had little to do with one another. "There was one man with a shell around his face." Ah, that would be Hadras, one of my good mates on the ghost ship. "Oh, there was one creature with a kind of fish on his face. He carried a whip for his weapon." The infamous bo'sun Jimmylegs; may he rot in hell. "Then there was a man with a crab's mouth, and a tentacle fusing to one of his human legs." I think that one was Crash, the bo'sun's favourite. No one liked him much. "There were two who fought together: one with a puffer fish face, and one with a shark's head. I remember that they were both vicious." At this, I was surprised: Koleniko and Maccus fighting together? Well, odder things have happened before. "Oh yeah, there was one other I remember: a man with a reef for his face and head." Ah, Palifico, Davy Jones' bodyguard out doing his master's dirty work.

"Ah well. Please continue your story. Barbossa was alive in Tia Dalma's cabin..." I stared at her, still wanting to hear the rest of the story.

She took a deep breath. Now, she, Will, and Barbossa needed to get Jack back before the final battle of piracy. Barbossa can do it, but there was one little catch: he needed sea-charts from Singapore, which just happened to be in the possession of the former Pirate Lord of the South China Sea, Sao Feng. In the process of procuring said charts, Will got captured, the East India Trading Company invaded Sao Feng's hideout, and Sao Feng went into hiding, allowing for them to commandeer a perfectly good ship and crew.

Now with the charts in hand, they all travelled on to World's End. Once they reached the beach, after being tossed and turned in a never-ending waterfall and being frozen to death while travelling to the ends of the earth, Jack thought that they were all illusions, and refused to sail with the woman who killed him.

"Now, you must understand. I never told Will that I had killed Jack. I found out later, when Jack found his senses, that Will wanted to get the _Pearl_ to free his father, Bootstrap."

Once they were all back in the real world, Will set a mutiny on board the ship so that he could gain the _Pearl_ in exchange for giving up Jack to Sao Feng. But Sao Feng tricked him, giving the _Pearl _to the East India Trading Company. In the end, there was a deal made that gave Barbossa and Jack the _Pearl_, and her to Sao Feng's custody; he thought that she was Calypso.

Later that night, the East India Trading Company murdered Sao Feng in an attack, but before he died, he made Elizabeth the new Lord of the South China Sea. Elizabeth and her newly-made crew were taken prisoner by the Trading Company, where of all places, she reunited with James Norrington, the man who fought with Jack and Will on Isla Cruces for the chest. He was once Elizabeth's fiancé before she married Will. Realizing that he was on the wrong side of the conflict, he released her and her crew, only to lose his life in the process.

Fulfilling her obligation as the new Pirate Lord, Elizabeth sailed to the Brethren Court. Due to an oath she swore, she could not tell me the details of it, only that through a chain of events, she was elected Pirate King. After that fateful meeting, we met on the_ Black Pearl._ Staring at the fire a little more, Elizabeth excused herself before going off to sleep; I took advantage of the peace and quiet to decorate my room, located on the upper floor near but not next to Elizabeth's.

I made my bed situated in the corner near the door. Stacking up firewood by the hearth, I added warmth to the room. At the end of the bed was a trunk with blankets in it for the chillier weather; I placed all the money and jewels underneath them that I could fit, locking the trunk afterwards. The rest of the treasure went into my closet and underneath some of the loose floorboards. In front of my bed, I unrolled the carpet that I purchased in Morocco, a brilliant red decorated with arabesques of golden thread. Pulling out my satchel of belongings, I took out the portraits of my family. Reverently, I placed them on the bedside table; the faces of Jack, Barbossa, and my brothers smiled at me, reminding me that I was safe once more.

Shaking my head, I pulled out the multitudinous weapons from my satchel; on the table underneath the window, I displayed them for all to see as they walked through my door. I removed the Japanese sword from its silk sheath and leather scabbard, showing it for all to see its blue-grey steel magnificence. I did not have any clothes other than the ones on my back, so my clothes drawers remained empty for the time being. Finally, the bookcase became a display case for both my lost-long dowry and the many souvenirs that I had collected over the years; the throwing knives I had purchased so long ago in Cartagena remained with my weapon display. My pirate journals and the letters that my brothers wrote me were placed on one of the shelves. Pleased with my handiwork, I laid down on my bed for a good night's sleep.


	16. Their New Life: Hope

After that first uneasy day, the two of us became comfortable in one another's company. Elizabeth, being the daughter of the late governor of Port Royal, left it to me, the daughter of a merchant, to catch up on the finances of the house. We were in an excellent state; my enormous sum of all mine and Randolf's shares of the treasure from fourteen years and more of piracy had increased because of interest from the bank, not to mention the increased addition of my recovered sunken treasure. The day after I was granted permission to stay in the house, Elizabeth found my collection of souvenirs in my room and was delighted to place them around the two floors of the house. From my wedding chest, I pulled out my dowry: the glasses, china, and silverware, the linens and paints, the fabrics and slippers. I placed the utensils in their rightful places around the house; I made sure to scour away fourteen year's worth of dust from the silverware and dishes before we could use them.

Within that first week of our cohabitation, Elizabeth decided that I would need a new wardrobe, to acknowledge that I was acting like a woman again. It was quite a verbal coup between the two of us about what I could wear before the tailor from the town came to our house.

"Elizabeth, can't I still wear pants and shirts?" I questioned as she paced around the parlour. I lounged in one of the chairs, watching the cogs of her oh-so-proper mind try to fathom my desire to wear men's clothing. The cloth that I had collected over the years sat folded on one of the sedans, waiting to be transformed into part of my new sets of clothing.

"Jessica, you're a lady! You cannot go around displaying your limbs for all to see!" Her accent flared whenever she was mad; it was interesting to hear. Then again, so did mine.

"Elizabeth, I'm not wearing dresses ever again! Not after the freedom of the trousers and shirts! I swear to you, I'll go around town naked before I wear a dress again!" I stood up from my chair; I could feel my accent turn guttural and fierce, something that Elizabeth's genteel British tone could never achieve. My ultimatum was clear; what was unclear was her reaction to it.

"Can't we come to an agreement, Jess?" She had finally stopped pacing, and looked me in the eyes. That gaze told me what she was not saying: Elizabeth was of the upper class, where appearances were important. She could not have her household wearing men's clothes. Thinking back to Randolf's elegant wardrobe, I was struck with an idea.

"I think we can. Listen to my idea. I continue to wear men's clothes-"

"Jess!" I swear, Elizabeth looked like she was about to rip out her hair.

"-but," I continued, "You can make the designs more feminine."

She stopped and looked at me. "What do you mean?" she asked, sounding curious at my plot.

"Well, how in the seven seas would I know? I'm the one who's been like a man for the past fourteen years! Let's get the tailor's advice." Just on cue, a knock came at the door. Before Elizabeth could say a word, I opened the door. In walked the middle-aged woman who ran the haberdashery shop down the road.

"Right then! Down to business." Pointing to me, she asked. "What is it you want to wear?"

Elizabeth answered before I could get a word out. "We are need of your advice. She," referring to me, "wants to wear trousers and shirts. But she has to look like a lady at the same time." The tailor, taking out paper, began to draw out possible ideas while Elizabeth went on her rant. "What can you do with this?"

"Plenty. It's not accepted that women can wear men's clothes these days in the big cities, but we're not in the big cities now, are we?" Showing her design to the both of us, a silent agreement occurred. The tailor was a genius: the shirt was loose in the arms and shoulders, but gently hugged the torso. At the collar, it cut down into a lower folded neckline, but it was still modest. Enough lace trimmed the sleeves that they almost hid my hands. The pants were tight against my legs, flaring out at my ankles. Nice and simple, it was not too ornate. "Does this suit the both of you?" She knew before we answered that this was perfect.

"Yes!" I pointed with my thumb to the fabric waiting on the settee. "Can you use these to make the shirts?"

The tailor's eyes gleamed as she inspected the fabric. "Of course. What do you want the trousers to be made of?"

"Something durable enough to withstand housework, but still feminine; the design, can you make the legs looser but still slim?" I added my two-cents before Elizabeth opened her mouth; I was the one who was going to wear the clothes, and I liked being comfortable. I refused to wear skin-tight clothing all day long; it appeared as though Elizabeth agreed with me on this matter.

"Alright. Strip." The tailor all but pushed me into a back room and stood me on a stool that she had brought. I don't think she expected to see the whip scars on my back and the tattoo on my arm, but there was nothing that I could do about them. Taking out her measuring string, she counted the knots between my shoulders, the length of my arms, the length and width of my torso and back, and the length of my legs. Mumbling under her breath, I could hear her say something about a corset for underneath the shirts. I wanted to complain, to say that my breast bands worked just fine, but Elizabeth would not want me to complain, so I kept my mouth shut.

"How long before all this is ready?" I asked her as I slid back into my clothes.

"Two weeks at the latest. You're my only project, but I'll need to use all my staff on this. Anything else you want?"

"Yes, I'll need three pairs of leather boots, preferably mid-calf high. I'll pay extra if you can find a decent cobbler. How much?" I pulled out the purse I had tied to my belt.

"Three hundred pounds. You only pay half my normal rate because you supplied most the fabric." Her eyes grew wide with greed as I handed the price in gold coin; she bit them all to make sure that they were real. After that, the tailor ran down the hill to begin my new trousseau.

Coming out of the backroom, Elizabeth made me sit down. "Jessica, now that you have the wardrobe of a lady, now you need to look like a lady." Without any allowance for questioning on my part, she whisked me up to my room. Gathering up all the lotions and body oils that I had bartered from Jack, she shoved me into the bathing room. A tub of hot water laid waiting. Placing my clothes in a pile in the corner, she waited for me to step into the tub. Then she took control: she washed my hair with strong soap. I thought that it wasn't that dirty, but the water turned grey from the dirt from my hair. Elizabeth then took a bar of even stronger soap, and scrubbed me all over until I was red. The water was stone cold when she was finished.

"Alright, dry yourself off. Then onto the next stage." Having no idea what was going on, I complied. Sitting down in the chair that she stood behind, I had to remain still while Elizabeth combed out fourteen year's worth of knots from my hair. Now, I have shaved my head a couple of times over the years with dull blades, but to feel your hair being ripped out of my head was a different story; my head felt like it was going to bleed from all the tugging. But after half an hour of straight combing later, my hair was like a river of silk that ran through my fingers.

"Now, isn't that better, Jess?" Elizabeth chuckled as she asked that question. In awe that my hair felt that way, I remained speechless.

Once she had completed the bath and my hair, Elizabeth took on the challenge of transforming my body. Sure, I was still muscled and strong, but my skin was dark and callused; my lips were chapped and my scars quite visible. Over the next two weeks, she plied my skin with the lotions and oils that I had accumulated over my travels. Every hour, she would make me apply more lotion to my skin to make it soft once more. She sighed at the color of my skin, resulting in my being banned from going outside until my skin lightened. She shaped my nails once the skin around them was soft enough.

By the time the two weeks were over and my new wardrobe had arrived, my skin was soft and smooth; you could never tell that I had abused them with the riggings of sail for the last fourteen years. All that remained were little calluses on the pads of my palm. My skin was still tanned, but it was closer to the shade of white then it had ever been in the last decade and a half. The scars on my body were still there, but they were smaller and less noticeable from the lotions that were plied by Elizabeth. My hair, once again smooth and dark golden russet, was held off my face with a black ribbon.

I constantly wore cotton, silk, and satin again, relishing the caress of the softer fabrics against my skin. My pants were usually black, made of lighter cotton or heavier wool. On the ring finger of my right hand, I sported a simple silver band set with a deep blue sapphire, ironically the same shade as Randolf's eyes; to me, it signifies that my love of the sea was the love of my life, and that there could be no other.

Over the next nine years, Elizabeth and I lived comfortably. I always went out to the market to buy our food. Men in the village would offer their services in carpentry or metalworking for free, just to look at the two beautiful ladies who lived alone. I constructed a library in one of the rooms, refilling it with my piratical volumes. Elizabeth added to it classical stories and works of the philosophers.

I kept a constant correspondence with my brothers; I even arranged a visit with them. It was the greatest of coincidences that our house was on the neighbouring island of Port Royal, only a half a day's sail. They were all shocked when I appeared in my feminine attire, but they soon got over it. We caught up on the events of all our lives; I found out that I was now an aunt five times over. All my brothers gave me a copy of their family portraits: Jacob was the father of a baby girl and a young son, John a father of two baby boys, Joshua the father of a baby girl. I wept with joy over the sight of my nieces and nephews.

As Elizabeth looked over William, I increased my workload so that Elizabeth would not have to do as such. The next nine years, I was William's nanny in conjunction with my housekeeping duties. I helped Elizabeth to change his dirty napkins, bath him, feed him, and rock him to sleep. Elizabeth radiated with joy whenever William latched himself to her for his milk. He was a quiet baby, never whiny or demanding. He slept throughout the night without a stir.

As he grew older, I grew into the role of teacher. Elizabeth often told him the story of his father, and why he was not here. However, she never told him that his father's heart was on display one of the bookcases in the sitting room. William understood easily, but he coddled a love of pirates from the cradle. So it fell to me to instruct him in the ways of the pirate. I bet good money that when Capt. Turner came back, he would have my hide for teaching his son about the scurvy ways of Jack Sparrow. William hushed in awe when I showed him my collection of weapons from my sea-faring years; he was reverent in the way that he carefully touched the weapons.

I pulled out my pirate journals, now water-stained and fading, and showed him the flags of the famous buccaneers and maps of the various locations that I had traveled to. To make it clearer, I pulled down the volumes that I used to copy out the maps. I told William my adventures on the sea, testing him on his knowledge of the sails and parts of the ship. He laughed when I showed him my tattoo, remembering how green I was when I received it. That young boy absorbed all that I had to teach him like a sponge. Along with the history of pirates, I gave him lessons in finances, reading, and writing.


	17. Their Desire: Freedom at Last

Finally, the day arrived. Ten years had passed from the day that Will Turner Jr. became captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. Elizabeth had marked the day in her heart. That day, an hour before sunset, she took William to the cliff that overlooked the bay. I followed them from a distance. I could hear young William sing a song that I had taught him.

Elizabeth watched the horizon as the sun slowly set beneath it. When the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, a green flash of light shot above into the upper reaches of the sky. In that flash, the _Dutchman_ appeared, slowly making its way to us. William ran down the cliff, closely followed by his mother, when the ship hit the shore. I stayed up on the cliff, watching the long awaited reunion below.

Will jumped off the ship and embraced his wife and son, tears coming to his eyes as he re-learned his wife and met his son for the first time. They led him up the cliff into our house. Before they I had arrived, I finished the dinner that I had been preparing all day for them. Tonight, I would simply be a server, not a close friend or teacher.

I could hear them as they entered the house. I left the kitchen and walked up the stairs. William saw me first, but it was Elizabeth who introduced me.

"Will! This is Jess; she helped both me and William take care of the house while you were gone." I walked forward to shake his hand. Captain Turner looked in need of a decent bath; his hair alone was dry from all the salt. Other than that, he was still the handsome man that I had seen ten years ago. His eyes were still the vivid brown; the necklace around his neck still was there. On his chest, now that I was closer, I could see the wicked scar of where Bootstrap had taken out his heart; now that Will was no longer the captain, his heart beat once more within his chest.

"You seem familiar." His voice slipped in my ears; it was a little hoarse from the years at sea, but it still had that lilt had reminded me of Randolf. He gazed in my face until he saw the tattoo on my arm as I reached to shake his hand. "You were there that day, weren't you? You were at Shipwreck Cove?"

I nodded. "I led the cannonade charge of the _Black Pearl_ against the _Endeavour_." Turning to William, I knelt down before him. "Willie, I need you to help set the table for the three of you for me, okay? I just have to help your dad get cleaned up before dinner." Waiting for him to nod, I led Captain Turner up the stairs into the room that I had prepared for him, the room attached to Elizabeth's chambers. I left him alone to wash off the grime and salt of ten years before he could come and join the rest of the family for dinner. Laying out fresh clothes for him, I could hear his breath of relief as he sunk into the hot water.

That night, everything was perfect. The table was set for three for a three-course meal. I stood at attention in a corner, waiting to be of service to them. Elizabeth eyed me in askance; I just replied with a grin and a shake of my head. I simply filled wine cups- water, in the case of the young master-, refilled plates, changed the courses, and washed dishes afterward. I sunk truly into the niche of housekeeper that I had created for myself.

But not all good things are met to last. The plan, the same one that I had decided on that day that I first made the cave my home, was finally going to come to pass. All that day, I had packed up my belongings back into the sea chest that John had given me so long ago. I would miss Elizabeth and Willie both, but they had their husband and father back now.

After supper was concluded, I dressed in my old rig and gathered up my belongings. Will, Elizabeth, and Willie had moved into the sitting room to warm up by the fire. I stood in the doorway, just watching them and hating to have to break up this family reunion so suddenly.

"Captain Turner." They all looked at me with curiosity in their eyes. "May I speak with you for a moment?" I walked forward and gave Elizabeth a friendly embrace that she did not reciprocate. To Willie, I gave him my pirate journals as a present (I had made copies of them for my own keeping). Looking up to the Captain, I asked again, "In private, sir?"

He got the hint. Outside of the door, I picked up the key and chest, the one that had housed his heart for the last ten years. He and I walked down to the shore line.

"The _Flying Dutchman_ always needs a captain, doesn't it, sir?" I sat at the beach, watching the tide go out. I heard a sigh as William sat next to me.

"It does. I was hoping that my father would take my place, but he is too old for the post."

There was silence between us for a moment. I took a deep breath before speaking again. "Will, I want you to do me a favour."

He looked at me with a grateful look in his eyes; that seemed only to make this harder. "Anything, for all that you have done for my family."

"Will, I wish to be the next captain of the _Flying Dutchman._" He definitely wasn't expecting that one.

"Why?" He looked out to the sea, to where his ship was moored.

"Because, Will, the sea is all I've ever needed, ever wanted for that matter. She has been the only constant in my life since leaving home, and even then, she was still there for me. You, Jack, even Adam Randolf, all loved the sea. To me, the sea is my home. It's my freedom."

Again, the silence ensued between the two of us. Finally, Will sighed again. He turned to me and nodded his head. "I would never give this post to an unwilling person." He looked me in the eye and began to speak in his captain's voice. "Do you fear death? Do you fear that dark abyss? I can offer you an escape." He was doing Jones' old speech, and I wanted to laugh save for the severity of the situation.

He pulled out a dagger from his side. "Is there anything else that I can do for you, Jessica?"

I swallowed back my fear. "Yes, Will. All of the treasure that I've collected over the years is for your family. And this," I pulled out a sheath of paper. "This is my story. Do with it what you will." Taking a deep breath, I took a swig of rum for bravery.

Will slipped his hand into a pocket in his breeches. He pulled out a small vial. "It's poison, Jessica. It will make you fall asleep. It'll be a bit easier on both of us that way." Without warning, he gave me an embrace.

"Tell Elizabeth... tell her and Willie both that I'm sorry." Before I lost my nerve, I swallowed the poison with one gulp. The last thing I remember after that was Will unlocking the chest...

All was blackness for a long time. I could hear things around me, but they meant nothing to me. There was nothing here for me, except my new duty. However, the darkness was not be, and I came back into the light...

I woke up on a bed; I was back in Elizabeth's house. But, how was that possible? The light was so bright, and I moved to cover my eyes from the harsh light of day. But my arm was so tired. My head was pounding something fierce, and my vision was exceptionally blurry.

"Hey, she's waking up." Someone was next to me. Their footsteps sounded like thunderbolts to my tender ears. I immediately got frustrated with myself. Since when was I ever this weak before? I shoved my legs over the side of the bed to try and stand up, but I fell over as soon as I tried.

"What are you doin', Mattie?" Only one person called me 'Mattie' and lived. I grinned as I could smell the rum off his breath and he and one other person helped me to lay back down. I tried to fight them, but I was still weak. I hear something being unscrewed, and then there was a godawful smell in the air: almost like rotting flowers.

"Jesus Christ, Jack!" That got me fully awake and lucid. Jack and Barbossa were standing over me. Will and Elizabeth were standing in the doorway.

"Well, now that's yer up, son, tell us what stupid stunt you pulled this time?" I looked over at Will, but he looked down to the floor. He didn't tell them? I swore under my breath.

I put my hand to where my heart was. I felt no heartbeat; I felt nothing but a massive scar running where my heart used to be. Well, at least Will had done the deed. Sighing, I undid my shirt and revealed the scar. That earned me gasps from everyone in the room.

Now everything was making sense. As per the original agreement between Calypso and Davy Jones, the person who was to become the captain of the _Flying Dutchman _was allowed one day on shore every ten years. This appeared to be my day off duty. But Will, or maybe Elizabeth, had gathered Jack and Barbossa for a final goodbye. Jesus... this was gonna be awkward.

"Why, Matt?" Jack appeared shocked, but Barbossa looked as if he understood.

"Jack," Barbossa took his shoulder as he turned back to the door. "He's gettin' what he wants, Jack." I nodded to Barbossa, thanking him without a word.

I stood up again, this time on steady knees. I gathered my breath and nodded my head. It was odd, not feeling the pulse in my heart, the thump of my heartbeat. "Jack, the sea's all I need. This is all I ever wanted." I embraced him. "Jack, you're like my father. Please don't be mad at me." Tears began to come down my eyes, and my shoulder was wet from Jack's tears.

Before this turned into a full-fledged sobbing fest, I let him go and rubbed away the dripping kohl from his face. "You, Captain Jack Sparrow, take what you can." I smiled as I repeated his words to me when I left to join the crew of the _Swift Return._

He understood my meaning and sniffed back the only tears that I ever saw him spill. "Give nothing back, Captain Matthew Cutting." My new title sounded so foreign.

I turned to Barbossa, who shook his head at me. "You lazy ol' git." We both embraced and laughed. Nothing needed to be said between us.

The last people that I needed to say goodbye to were the Turners. My first one was to little Willie. Kneeling before him, I gathered him in my arms. "Now, Willie. I gotta go away for a while. But I'll be back to visit in a couple a years, okay? But, I got another present for you. My boat's all yours, Willie." I held him back and looked him in the eyes. "Be good for your mom, okay?"

Getting off my knees, I embraced Elizabeth despite the pain in my chest. This time, there was no tears, no sobbing. I could see on her face that she couldn't comprehend my choice at all, but when were choices ever made to be understood? Stepping back for a moment, I removed my coin necklace, the very same one that O'Niell had made for me when I was back on the _Pearl,_ and slid it around her neck. I whispered into her ear, "So's you'll never forget me." I had already said my goodbyes to Capt. Turner, so he and I merely shook hands. He placed his other hands over top my tattoo and nodded.

Nodding my head and taking one last look around this room, I lifted up my sea chest and began the walk down the cliff side. The air was tangy again this morning, filled with the promise of new adventures, of freedom, of immortality. With just a thought from my head, the _Flying Dutchman_ came closer to the shore. Again with a thought, I slipped through the hull, melding myself with the wood and then walking through the keel to the deck.

I had no crew; I would recruit them over time. Placing my belongings in the captain's quarters, I ran my hand over the helm and looked over my new ship. Looking up at the cliff one last time, I saw my family standing together as a final goodbye to me.

"So, you be da new captan of de _Flying Dutchman_?" I turned and saw Calypso standing there in the form of Tia Dalma.

"Yes, milady. Consider this payment for the debt between us." With that, I turned the wheel and began my journey into the deep, as ferryman of the dead at sea...

I stood out on the bowsprit, just watching the sunrise fall on the sea of the Locker. At a thought, I glanced down to my tattoo, still as clear as it was the first day that I saw it. All of the events of my life, I had pounced on new opportunities, fighting others to gain my wealth and position. In ten years, I would return to the land of the living and be a human again; I would see my family again. At last, I could relax and enjoy the consequences of my actions. At last, I was truly free...


End file.
